The Time My Husband Compared Me To A Pig

The Time My Husband Compared Me To A Pig Tuesday, October 23 2012

I have cellulite.

I have hips and a relatively big ass.

I used to have a flat stomach, but now, not so much.

In the past couple years, I've felt my body change. My love handles have a little more “handle” to them and my pooch pooches just a little more.

I work out regularly. Even ran a marathon this year. But, still these little “extras” seem to want to stick around and visit indefinitely.

The weird thing is that I was at my smallest right after I had Luke, my second born. I don't know if it was the hormones or the fact that I had an 11month old and a newborn to deal with and spent most of my days (and nights) nursing and/or pacing my living room, but I could fit in a size 5 pants...that which I had never been able to do since the Brian Mulroney days (a little Canadian politics humor for you there..any takers?)...

But somehow along the way, after Joseph was born...that size 5 jeans made its way to the bottom of the pile I call the f*!ing skinny bitch pile. That pile and I are not friends.

Truth is though, I'm not meant to be size 5. I've inherited the infamous Dugas child bearing hips and my dad's muscular legs. At that size 5, I look gaunt and tired because, of course, I lose almost all of the weight in my face and chest. I must have tortured witches in a past life.

However, my irrational, I've just flipped through a Shape magazine self can't help but want to have Jennifer Aniston's narrow hips and Nicole Scherzinger's tiny tight ass. (Mark do you know who those girls are? Didn't think so).

Anyhow, the other day when discussing this haven’t been able to drop those last 10 pounds fact with my husband who was hearing it for the umpteenth time and would have most likely preferred to stick a needle in his ear, I came to the conclusion that maybe I couldn’t drop the weight because I now enjoyed all the southern Louisianian foods so much...foods that, 5 years ago, I would have steered clear of. Maybe the key would be to stop my occasional indulging?

Such a rational explanation no?

My husband obviously frustrated with this redundant, going nowhere conversation looks at me and starts.

“You know Nic, when I was in high school, in my agriculture class, the teacher once asked us if we knew what made a perfect slice of bacon. What was is about a pig that would make it produce a perfect slice of bacon with perfectly proportioned layers of fat and meat. Was it environmental? Was it due to the pig's diet? You being a Biology major...what do you think Nic?”

Me, “Uh, don't know. Their metabolism?”

Mark, “Nope. Their genetics! Years and years of selective breeding would produce these pigs who would generate perfect bacon. Genetics, Nic! So you see boo, YOU CAN'T CHANGE GENETICS BY NOT EATING GUMBO!”

And there you have it folks.

Leave it to my husband to make me feel better about my body by using a pig breeding analogy.

Makes sense doesn't it?

Now I want bacon.