8 Weeks until I am TOTALLY SEXY and in a bathtub with a turkey leg. Naturally.

I woke up really, really sick today and I woke up in a very, very dramatic way. The second I opened my eyes and groggily realized the little sore throat from the night before had turned into a full blown earache/swollen gland/aches and pains extravaganza, I lost it. I laid there in bed moaning out loud: "Oh no, OH NOOO" over and over again as if that was going to magically restore my heath.

I don't usually mind being sick, but when I am ALONE and there is NO ONE TO MAKE ME SOUP AND PAT MY HEAD It sort of loses its romantic appeal. I also had a workout today that I really didn't want to miss.

Yes. You heard that right. I did not want to miss a workout.

I'm not fat by any means, but I'm also definitely not in shape. The one day I was late to class and had to sprint up 4 endless levels of stairs and nearly died was the day that I felt like enough was enough. I got a gym membership the next day. And then I spent that day scouting out where all of the hot tubs and spas were. And then the next day I started working out.

Priorities.

It's amazing what happens when you tell people that you are working out again. It releases a barrage of back-hand compliments. "Oh good," a friend told me. "I mean, you need it, right?" Another friend gushed: "You are going to look SO HOT! And it won't take that long, because you're, like, not fat at all. You're just soft! Oh my God, I can't wait to see how good you are going to look!"

Now, I'm not going to tell you all how much I weigh, (123 pounds) because that is not the point of this story, (I only weigh 123 pounds, goddammit) and I won't submit to the noise my friends are making since I know that they only have the best of intentions. (123. fucking. pounds.) It is about health, I get that, and my friends are just excited that I am making some life changes and won't be curling up in bed with a glass of scotch balancing on my stomach as I read.

Or, I will, but that stomach will be SEXIER. And probably flatter, which will in turn provide a better table-top for my booze.

So now you see why I was despondent over missing that workout.

Junking myself up on Nyquil, I took my sick, soft ass to the couch and woozily googled Tina Fey pictures. This is one of my favorite things to do. I don't know why. I'm not normal. I came across this picture, and my life was changed:

It was the single funniest thing I had ever seen. Especially hopped up on Nyquil at 11am. I immediately, (continuing to make good choices) banged out an e-mail to a photographer friend of mine. This is exactly what it said:

hi guys!
I have a pretty amazing idea.

I was thinking of doing a boudoir shoot- but a really awesome one. I want to mimic Tina Fey's esquire spread, captured in spirit with this picture. This is what I am thinking: me in a bubble bath, eating a turkey leg, wearing rain boots. Or posing with empty bottles of champagne, clown dolls, stuffed monkeys in my wedding dress. OR if we could get a BUNCH OF CATS...well, I don't know what we would do with them, but it sounds promising.

I have a million more ideas, all better than the last in my brain. I know we can't get a million cats, but we CAN get a turkey leg.

I look forward to your reply and hopeful continued friendship.
xo
Melissa

I had decided in my drug induced haze that the most logical reward for getting a hot body would be a photo shoot with a turkey leg. This made total sense to me, and I even thought "I could make this a book and give it to Brett for his birthday!"

Because everyone knows that there is nothing a man wants more than a picture of his wife with 4,000 cats and stuffed monkeys.

Sometimes I am just too sexy for my own good. Or, I will be. In 8 weeks.