Where was I at last post? Oh, yes...I was talking about the three responses you typically get when the pounds start to peel off. In my experience, people generally fall into three categories. First, there's the lookie-loo with the ever noisome question, "So, what did you do to lose the weight?" (or it's cousin, "How's the weight thing going?"). Then there are less-than-motivational "You can do it" drive-bys. And then...my arch nemesis...the Stepford Wives. They don't have to be married, actually. Single, divorced, widowed, or serving time for taking a frying pan to the good-for-nothing husband...their M.O.s are all the same. At the first scent of self-improvement...it is ON. Whether you asked for their advice of not, they're gonna give it, in a most patronizing and presumptuous package.
Allow me to illustrate. As you know, I love all things Texas. But I have to credit LA for offering every variation of exfoliating, waxing, primping, plumping, and plucking. So when I found out about a strange ritual called endermologie, where flabsters go dressed in body suits of some type and allow well-meaning strangers to roll over their bodies with a high pressure cellulite vacuum meant to break up cellulite (temporarily, of course), drain the lymphatic system to eliminate body toxins, and create glowing skin, I thought "greeeaaaaattttt!"
So I make an appointment and arrive early, with a mix of healthy skepticism and piqued curiosity. And out walks the Stepford. A bouncy, energetic personal trainer slash endermologist. She takes me into a room equipped with a giant table and a contraption that looks like a mix between a very large Hoover and the thing you roll around in hospitals with an IV bag...only this was sans bag.
The Stepford asks me a few friendly questions as I'm filling out the necessary forms. We have a conversation that becomes (from my end) the equivalent of "I have a Master's degree and am in no uncertain terms expecting this to permanently remove cellulite." Nor do I need it to...what little I have always goes away when I eat right and exercise. She wants to know my goals. Well, I guess I want to eliminate the toxins of 1000 bags of M&M's while bringing the blood flow back to body parts I forgot existed. But there wasn't a check box for that on your form.
Then the Stepford shows me the suit. It's a white unitard with legs...it looks not unlike a shrink-wrapped version of thermal underwear, minus the flap in the back. I'm scared. In it's new packaging, it looks the size of a onezie. She assures me it will fit...and it does, actually. And now I'm like a giant stuffed sausage...on a table...ready to be vacuumed.
With the flip of the switch, the huge Hoover hybird comes to life, and now the Stepford is coming at me with an industrial sized roller attached to a hose. It starts to simultaneously pinch, suck and roll away at its target, which is almost every inch of my unitard-encased body.
Just as I'm beginning to get used to it and enjoy the mental image of all those M&Ms being massaged away, the Stepford identifies herself. "So, you're in the process of losing some weight?" Pinch, suck, roll. "Well, here's what you need to do." Note to anyone reading...any conversation that starts with "Here's what you need to do" is code for "Someone's really going to enjoy this interchange and it's not going to be you." From that moment on, the body suit and humiliation of lying on a table having my fat vacuumed are forgotten as I listen in polite horror while she outlines, in excruciating detail, every morsel of food I can and cannot eat and every exercise I must and mustn't do if I have any chance of success.
The thought comes to me to yell out "Hey...wait a minute! Didn't I just say I was losing weight?!? Didn't everything I say to you in our pre-vacuum interview indicate that I had some level of knowledge and intelligence? Did I accidently check the "Weight Loss for Dummies" workshop on my form? You're just here to vacuum, so shut your pie hole (If you even eat pie)!" But, like a deer in headlights, I was frozen. I decided to lay on the table and play dead to prevent further attack.
Will I ever dress up in a white onezie and have my fat rolled again? Absolutely. I left the place feeling like I could run a marathon. But, unfortunately, it won't be with the Stepford. And I can't help but wonder what a forest ranger would advise for these attacks. Next time, should I wave my arms wildly while making myself appear bigger? Or should I curl up into a fetal position, like when I play Break the Egg, and wait for it to pass? Hmmm...something to ponder.
Thursday, September 10, 2009 at 10:10PM
Reader Comments (3)
Hilarious! You are so right, everyone has advice to give when you are already in the process of losing weight. My favorite is when they tell me, "Oh that won't work," when, well, it has been working. This cellulite removal treatment seems like something straight out of the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory with the suit and everything. If only there were pictures. =)
Amelia, that is TOO funny. Until the precise moment you brought it up, I had forgotten all about Gene Wilder in the white unitard. That is hilarious! Thanks for the laugh!
Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off! This is so you! I love it.....