Desperate (for exercise) Housewife.

              (She feels schmexy. And she knows it.)

I just tucked Brett into bed to give him a head start on sleep since I still have the "sparkly hips" from the other night. Meaning: I am trying to be a good wife and spare him my tossing, turning, pillow punching, sheet wadding escapades. I can't keep still lately.

I was telling him this as I paced our bedroom floor in his t-shirt and his boxers. (You would think that I don't own actual clothing, but- I'll get to that.) "I'm just...so wired all of the time!" I said, continuing the pacing as he lay on the bed covering his eyes, hoping for sleep. "My mind is going a million miles a minute, and...and..."

"And you need to work out tomorrow. Please. For the love of God." He groaned.

Now, I consider myself a cool, fun-loving wife. But, I could be freakin' Gisele, and you do not mention that I need to work out. However, I have known Brett for a long time, and I know if he ever thought I was truly fat, he would say it. Politely. The man is nothing if not honest, and we've both learned that the hard way. (Bless his courageous heart.)

So I knew in this moment he was just asking me to work out because he was tired of my midnight Olympics in bed. The un-sexy kind.

His honest moment struck a chord with me though, because I have been feeling so very gross and so very...not myself lately. I hate to submit to the whole calculated "this-is-what-you-should-look-like" Cosmopolitan norm. I avoid those magazines (except when traveling. Hey, give me a break...it's kind of essential reading material for cross country trips involving a pack of Twizzlers and a glass of wine, ok?) and I never check my scale. I like to think that if my jeans fit, I feel good, and maintain a healthy, active and balanced life-style...I'm golden.

Except I haven't really been doing that. Like, any of that. Um. For...awhile.

Rewind to me wearing my husband's clothing.

I started the day in my own clothing: a cute pair of jeans and a summery top. I left to go get coffee and reading material, and when I came home told myself that "Oh, the humidity has really made these jeans a second skin. It has nothing to do with the fact I ate fried oysters AND steak AND drank 2 glasses of wine at dinner last night. No, no, no...this impossible humidity!" So I changed into Brett's boxers.

And then his shirt.

And then ate macaroni and cheese for lunch.

damnit.


Suddenly, the little lies I had been telling myself became more and more insane. I love my wine, but do I need it every night? Um...yes. Ok, no. NO. But...

NO. MELISSA. NO.

I love my chocolate, and my cheese and my...well, anything yummy and decadent and delicious. And that is not a problem! I am clearly not a woman that thrives under extreme control. I like to live life and NOT be one of those girls who orders a "skinny margarita," (seriously ladies? Stop that.) at the bar. I did it once and promptly decided it was foolish.

Life is made to be lived, right? We only get one ride on this little food-laden carousel. So, take it easy. Enjoy things in moderation. ACTUALLY WORK OUT AND DON'T COUNT YOUR 1.45 MILE WALK TO WHOLE FOODS TO BUY CAKE AS EXERCISE. (But it kind of is...if you walk fast. And buy wine. Wine is heavy.)


Anyway.


All I am saying is this: there is no "right" size. At all. I won't divulge my weight, but I have friends that weigh less than me, more than me, and everywhere in between- and they rock it. One of the most beautiful women I ever met went to my regular yoga class. (About a year ago. I'm totally slacking.) And she was a bigger woman. But, she was tight. And sexy. And...most importantly...she knew it. I would lay on my mat and just watch her duck and dive and shimmy through the motions of our class. And it was sketchy as hell on my part, but I could not get enough of her.

I think of her when I run. She makes me want to run more. Because, when I do actually run, I come home and strut around in my sports bra and feel like the hottest thing around.

Not so much when I am eating macaroni and cheese in my husband's clothes.

So, I'm just encouraging any lady reading this to do what it is that makes YOU feel sexy. Hiking, biking, pole dancing, running, laying on a yoga mat watching people like a creeper...

Embrace your body. Embrace your femininity. We're so lucky to be women. Don't you think?

I think I'll slip on some clothes that are MINE tonight...and go for that run tomorrow.

And then dance around the living room to Beyonce.

Duh.