My favorite denial
Two years, thirty pounds. That’s what a move, moose and too much hot chocolate has done to me. My indented stomach expanded like the air in a tire, gradually filling up the once-loose space under my t-shirts. It’s added warmth, I tell myself, watching the temperature gauge hit 12 degrees on the drive to the house.
During this same time, my husband’s tummy flattens as he snow-beasts himself up and down our road at all hours of the day and night in the winter snowplowing (he resembles a white snow-beast in his winter camo outfit, hence the snow-beast) and in the summer, he’s felling trees or whatever else he does in the forest. He is shrinking as I expand, which drives me even more desperately to all things dark and chocolate.
Spring, summer and fall have come and gone two times and one day, not too long ago, I tug at the waist line of my long-sleeve t-shirt, pulling it over and down to my jeans. I see Rog watching.
“It’s not there if you can’t see it.” He smirks, I wink. We burst out laughing. “It’s my favorite denial,” I quip. My personal roll of insulation is still there, but until I do something about it, I choose to ignore it entirely. I still hear his laughter as I walk downstairs.
Since then, the phrase has gotten so much use around my house.
Dust on the floor? Move the chair cuz if you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.
Dirty laundry? Throw in down the shoot, cuz if you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.
Do you see how useful this catch-phrase has become? I’ve found a whole new lease on life.
Sexual disease? …ok, kidding on that one, but it’s just fun and sassy to write.
As I type this blog on this lovely, Sunday night, I stare at an empty plate beside my bed, which just thirty minutes ago, had six chocolate chip cookies on it. But, they don’t exist at all, because they are now in my stomach. The good news is I am wearing a cozy fleece top, so my jelly belly doesn’t exist at all.