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Archive for the 'Final Inches' Category

Final Inches Aftermath

I wrote a letter to my ass a long time ago on this blog that I’m going to dig out and post here now. Then, before and after Final Inches pictures.

Hello Ass,

– and I feel I can address you with the informal “ass” because I’ve known you for quite a long time-

I would like to ask you a simple question: What’s your deal?

I’ve put off writing this letter because I kept feeling that things might improve on their own. Yes, I’ve had three children and sure I’ve slacked off at the gym over the last months…okay year, but still. Why have you turned on me? What did I do – besides the occasional cookie binge – to make you go so completely soft on me?

Is it because I’m in my forties? Is that why you’re mad? If so, I understand but I’d appreciate it if you’d find another way to communicate with me instead of just dimpling up in anger and losing any semblance of muscle tone. My stomach hasn’t reacted this way so why you? My arms are hanging in there too. What makes you so special?

Is this about me not doing those Cardio Barre classes that I signed up for? Or maybe you’re upset that I blew off the entire Pilates craze. But cut me some slack. Didn’t I do the “Buns of Steel” video four or five times in the late 90?s? Maybe that wasn’t me. But, still I thought about it. And you can’t argue that there have been tons of times I’ve found myself on all fours like a dog kicking my leg up in the air behind me in the most undignified fashion. That’s called spot toning, Mr. Ass. I’ve also subjected myself to machines called Butt Blasters, tried good old fashioned jogging and drank more than my fair share of water from an Evian bottle that went everywhere with me (although I stopped short of buying one of those netted bottle holders -too corny) But you are refusing to do your part.

Although I’ve lost most of my pregnancy weight you will not allow me back into my prepregnancy jeans. At least not without a fight. When I do shove you into a pair, you stubbornly hang over the top in what we gals like to call a “muffin top.” Sounds cute, Ass, but it’s not. Trust me on this.

How can we make peace with each other? At the rate we’re going I fear I will have to break down and buy some Spanx. Neither of us want that. They will be uncomfortable. Let’s work this out before it gets any uglier. I look forward to a time we can face a three way mirror together.

Sincerely,

Me

Well, I’m happy to say that things have improved due to my #fatsuckage.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 27, 2011 3:56 amFinal Inches19 comments  


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