Another true story by Angie Ruark (who is still living it)
©2009 by Angie Ruark
How we look at situations we are in often determines our outlook on life. Sometimes a different perspective can make all the difference.
In the last three years, I have gained fifteen pounds. But I keep referring to the fact that “I’m fifteen pounds heavier than I normally weigh.” You would think that I would figure out that if I have weighed this much for three years in a row, that THAT is my normal weight. But no. I refuse to give in. It makes me feel better to say that I’m normally fifteen pounds lighter than I am. So, to what do I credit these extra pounds? I work my butt on. That’s right. I don’t work it off anymore. I work it ON. How do I do that you ask? It’s easy: I sit on it. At the computer, at my desk, or driving in my car, I sit. I have worked my butt on so much that I have had to buy the next size up in pants. This is not my favorite outcome of course, but I guess I don’t mind it too much because I am not giving up my chocolate! So here I am again, sitting.
Typing on the computer is now my mode of exercise. I suppose I could try butt-tucks in my chair but that might look weird. My fingers are in great shape, and I am pretty fast now at typing in my email account, but the rest of me, well….! Here’s the thing: I work all day and then I go home. And at the end of a very long workday, the LAST thing I want to do is work some more, even if it is at a gym.
When I get home, I like to plop on the couch. I don’t “gracefully lower myself into a nice sitting posture,” I plop. If anything is near where I land, it flies off the couch and onto the floor where I MIGHT pick it up later (but don’t count on it.) “Will someone bring my bon-bons please?!” So I sit there. Then I lie there. Well, what do you expect? I’m tired! I work hard all day and all week! The saying used to be, “Man, I worked my butt off today!” But it’s not the saying anymore! I declare it officially changed to: “Wow! I have worked my butt on today!” That makes me feel so much better about those extra fifteen pounds I’ve gained (not my normal weight though don’t forget!) If I think about it that way, those extra fifteen pounds (that pretty much landed in the same posterior area) are more like a badge of honor, something to be proud of because of all my hard work!
So, I’m just not going to worry about it! Maybe I should go ahead and have hot fudge sundaes (how about the hot fudge right out of the jar, hmmm?), or pizza or burgers, fries, sodas, or cheesecake! Yes!! All of it guilt free because I am working my butt on this week! I work hard and I deserve it! Out with the “inspiration pants” I bought to “help me lose weight.” They’re outta here! I declare that I will wear my new and improved derriere with pride! It’s a testament to my hard work ethic, my dedication to driving my kids all over creation, and my prolific computer skills (especially online shopping! – I am SO good at that!)
Remember, the next time you look in the mirror and find that you’ve earned a badge of honor, be glad! You’ve worked so hard, you’ve worked your butt on!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Why Oh Why Did I Wear Those High Heeled Shoes???
Life happens. You think you have control over what is going on, but you don’t. Sometimes that’s a good thing.
Why Oh Why Did I Wear Those High-Heeled Shoes???
A True Story by Angie Ruark (who lived it) © 2009 by Angie Ruark
Of course I know why I wore those high-heeled shoes. I wanted to look grown up and pretty. After all, I was in ninth grade and I wanted to look nice. No, better than nice. I wanted to look beautiful! Even though it has been twenty-three years (yikes!) I can still see my sleek, steel-gray high-heeled shoes. The ones that went so perfectly with my silver and black pants and blouse. Plus the black bow in my hair. And my black earrings. Perfect! I prissed around all morning as I went to school. With my posture nice and straight I kept my outfit nice and neat all through homeroom. Once the first period bell rang, I carefully grabbed my stack of books. (I still don't know why I had so many) Out in the hallway, it was very crowded. In fact, it was the most crowded part of the school at the most crowded time of day. As I tippy-toed in my high-heels to the stairway I felt very grown up. I looked around at all the other faces in the crowded hallway that were still unknown to me at the time. Carefully, I stepped onto to the first step at the top of a very tall staircase with all of my books in my arms. I began my descent, but not the way you normally would. You see, my beautiful steel-gray high-heeled shoe (my right one to be exact) caught on something on the very first step.(Looking back, I think it was my ego) Then I fell like a tree that has been chopped down in a forest right after someone yells, "Timber!" I slowly went head first down the stairs but managed to catch myself with my knees. Instead of nose-diving down the stairs I banged all the way down on my knees and performed a nice little somersault (not on purpose) at the bottom. Funny how I never dropped a book! I landed flat on my back looking up at a sea of faces: some worried, some shocked, some amused, and some already unable to hold back their laughter. The little old janitor was so kind to take my books. Ok, he had to pretty much pry them from my arms because I did not want to move. Not from pain, though. I was hurt somewhat, but I was more humiliated than anything else. He tried to pick me up, even though I was easily twice his size. To avoid making an already embarrassing situation mortifying, I refused his assistance and painfully got to my feet, with an emphasis on the pain to hopefully erase everyone’s memory of my stairway gymnastics escapade. I gathered my books and did the smartest thing I could think of at the time (which was to call my mom and go home and change out of those heels and clothes into something sensible!) I made it through the rest of the day without too much ridicule and eventually the rest of high school. Little did I know that the young man who would become my high school sweetheart and eventually my husband had witnessed the entire episode. One day several years later, he lovingly reminded me of that event. "How do you know all that?" I asked. "I was there that day you fell down the stairs and I thought you looked cute when you fell," he replied. “It made me want to ask you out.”
I am so glad I wore those shoes!
Why Oh Why Did I Wear Those High-Heeled Shoes???
A True Story by Angie Ruark (who lived it) © 2009 by Angie Ruark
Of course I know why I wore those high-heeled shoes. I wanted to look grown up and pretty. After all, I was in ninth grade and I wanted to look nice. No, better than nice. I wanted to look beautiful! Even though it has been twenty-three years (yikes!) I can still see my sleek, steel-gray high-heeled shoes. The ones that went so perfectly with my silver and black pants and blouse. Plus the black bow in my hair. And my black earrings. Perfect! I prissed around all morning as I went to school. With my posture nice and straight I kept my outfit nice and neat all through homeroom. Once the first period bell rang, I carefully grabbed my stack of books. (I still don't know why I had so many) Out in the hallway, it was very crowded. In fact, it was the most crowded part of the school at the most crowded time of day. As I tippy-toed in my high-heels to the stairway I felt very grown up. I looked around at all the other faces in the crowded hallway that were still unknown to me at the time. Carefully, I stepped onto to the first step at the top of a very tall staircase with all of my books in my arms. I began my descent, but not the way you normally would. You see, my beautiful steel-gray high-heeled shoe (my right one to be exact) caught on something on the very first step.(Looking back, I think it was my ego) Then I fell like a tree that has been chopped down in a forest right after someone yells, "Timber!" I slowly went head first down the stairs but managed to catch myself with my knees. Instead of nose-diving down the stairs I banged all the way down on my knees and performed a nice little somersault (not on purpose) at the bottom. Funny how I never dropped a book! I landed flat on my back looking up at a sea of faces: some worried, some shocked, some amused, and some already unable to hold back their laughter. The little old janitor was so kind to take my books. Ok, he had to pretty much pry them from my arms because I did not want to move. Not from pain, though. I was hurt somewhat, but I was more humiliated than anything else. He tried to pick me up, even though I was easily twice his size. To avoid making an already embarrassing situation mortifying, I refused his assistance and painfully got to my feet, with an emphasis on the pain to hopefully erase everyone’s memory of my stairway gymnastics escapade. I gathered my books and did the smartest thing I could think of at the time (which was to call my mom and go home and change out of those heels and clothes into something sensible!) I made it through the rest of the day without too much ridicule and eventually the rest of high school. Little did I know that the young man who would become my high school sweetheart and eventually my husband had witnessed the entire episode. One day several years later, he lovingly reminded me of that event. "How do you know all that?" I asked. "I was there that day you fell down the stairs and I thought you looked cute when you fell," he replied. “It made me want to ask you out.”
I am so glad I wore those shoes!
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