I'm on a weight-loss plateau. 241 down to 207, no problem. 207 down to 206, not so much. I've been at 207 for three weeks.
This is when I usually give up. You would think that I could look at photos of myself at 110 and find encouragement there.
I do not look good thin. I could get a job as rapper Iggy Azalea's body double.
The first time I saw Iggy I thought, "I know you, girl." Business on the top, party down below. I wondered if Iggy was, like me, a nice girl born in a caricature barmaid's body.
In case you think I exaggerate, this is Iggy in a bikini.
Below: me in a bikini. It's like a living optical illusion.
See? That's my goal body. And frankly, fat me can find clothes that fit more easily than me with the Iggybutt up there.
I don't mean to slam Iggy's figure; it's a great figure... for a rapper. It was a bad body for a virginal Baptist girl who wore pinafores until the week the puberty swelled everything up into a sex cartoon. I wore lots of bulky plaid shirts in my tweens, is what I'm saying.
If I had that body now ... not that that could ever happen ... I'd have to wear baggy plaid shirts to work. That body still doesn't suit me. Actually, I don't think my waist will ever get that small again. If it did I could pack thirty pounds on that waist and look normal.
So, 110 +30 ... 140, then, that's my goal. That's a nice healthy weight, with enough fat to discourage male attention - but wait! I'm old! There won't be any male attention. 140, though, a far cry from 207, where I'm stuck.