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Resolved: No 2017 New Year’s Resolutions

2017 New Year's Resolutions

No 2017 New Year’s Resolutions for me: I’m doing what I did last year. Find what makes you happy and do more of it.

Resolved: Make No 2017 New Year’s Resolutions

At the beginning of this New Year I am making no new 2017 New Year’s resolutions. Except maybe that I will continue doing what I’m already doing.

I know  2016 was a rotten year for many people. But it was a pretty good personal one for me even though Hillary Clinton lost the Presidential election. Now my stoic old heart is broken and the whole country is DOOMED. (I’m STILL With Her, by the way.)

Last year I stopped caring about a lot of things that had hindered me ‘lo these many years…61 to be exact.

I stopped worrying about what other people think of me. I finally like me…and really…isn’t that enough?

So, if I were to make some 2017  New Year’s resolutions, I would just stick with what is working for me.

  • I stopped putting myself down. No, I didn’t suddenly become an arrogant asshole. I merely stopped saying self-deprecating things, trying to make other people feel OK by pointing out all my flaws. I finally learned that when I do that, all they can see is my flaws.  And they think less of me for them. I still tell funny stories about myself, but not to make other people feel better.  I no longer spill the beans on all my insecurities.
  • Ironically, I also stopped telling other people the “great things” I have done. I stopped being so insecure that I had to point out that I also might, maybe, possibly be worthy of their attention.as-far-as-i-know-im-delightful
  • I stopped worrying about how I look. Yes…I still shower and wash my hair and occasionally wear make-up. I quit reading articles about how to look younger. I am 61 years old and I am quite fine with that, thank you very much. I look like I’m 61…and I am fine with that as well.
  • I stopped focusing on how fat I am.  I bought some larger pants that feel good when I wear them. Yes, they have elastic in the waist and I am grateful for that. It leaves my mind open to think about things I like to think about, like:

falling leaves,

happiness,

how good the winter sun feels on my face,

planning a doll house and making the furniture,

illustrating a book,

taking a walk,

reading a good book,

and hanging out with my grandkids.

I no longer focus on my uncomfortable britches. 🙂 🙂  🙂 Whew!

  • I stopped making excuses. If I don’t want to do something and I’m questioned about it, I say “Because I don’t want to.” If I want to do something…and someone questions me about my choices, I answer “Because I want to.” Next Question.
  • In 2016 I spent a lot of time thinking, laughing, working at things I enjoyed, writing, pursuing what is really important to me, traveling to places I’d never been, and looking at eagles and stars in the sky. It made me happy. Very happy indeed.

Some of the best advice I’ve ever heeded is this: Find what makes you happy and do more of that.

I did. I am. And in 2017, I think I’ll just keep on doing that.

 

 

The Worst Christmas Presents Ever

The Worst Christmas Presents Ever

by Peggy Browning

worst Christmas presents ever

Life is good. Live, laugh, love…and enjoy it. But don’t give this cup as a Christmas gift.

 

Ho ho ho. So here it is…that most jolly of seasons when everyone is merrily skittering around…filling their shopping baskets with gifts for giving to others. They are happy and excited, trying to choose just the right gift. Unlike me, they are not giving the worst Christmas presents ever.

They’re choosing presents for people they love, people they like, and probably for a few people they don’t even like, but feel obligated to buy a gift for.

They are buying wrapping paper and tape…ribbons and bows…and festive Zip-Loc bags to wrap up all those precious presents they are sure the recipients will love…or at least like…or not exchange for a gift card.

I don’t like gift giving season. In fact, I kind of hate it. I suck at gift giving.

I’m serious. I am a terrible gift giver. Nobody wants to get a gift from me. Because I give the worst Christmas presents ever.

No one wants me to draw their name from the Christmas hat. No one want s me to be their Secret Santa. Even my kids don’t like to get gifts from me.

I am notorious for giving bad gifts. I have no excuse for it. I’m just truly bad at it.

One year, I gave my grandson a huge package of various sized batteries, a battery organizer, and a big orange box to store his other junk in. He loves batteries…he needs batteries for many of his toys…he loves to put stuff in boxes…orange is his favorite color.

So that’s what I gave him. I was so pleased with myself for finding that battery organizer and the orange box.

Needless to say, the gift was less than impressive. My present was questionable among all the other packages. The faces of the adults present said “What the hell, Grandma?”

OK…so I give the worst Christmas presents ever!Whaddya want me to do about it?

Last year, the same kid won an award in Cub Scouts for baking cupcakes or something. I was so proud of him!

So I made him an apron and bought some cake mixes and cans of icing and mailed them to him so he could bake cupcakes in style. Little did I know that the Cub Scout thing was a one-time activity to earn a cooking badge.  He’s not that fond of cooking and the gift of that manly-looking apron elicited another look of, “What the hell, Grandma?”

So that apron landed on the list of one of the worst Christmas presents ever.

One Christmas, my son Ben asked me, “Are you giving us more of that home-made crap this year?” He was about 19. So…no…there was no home-made crap that year. Honestly, until that time, I had thought my hand-crafted gifts were appreciated. . C’est la vie…you never can tell.

Fewer people are traumatized by my presents these days because I have stopped giving Xmas gifts to people who are not my grandchildren.  I do still try to give them something that makes them smile.

So I give them what I loved as a kid. They get a new pair of pajamas, a new Christmas tree ornament, and a flashlight.

I loved my warm pajamas. Our house was always cold because we had open flame butane heaters and my mother was afraid we would die of carbon monoxide poisoning if the fires burned after we went to bed. Flannel pajamas were greatly appreciated. (and lots of heavy quilts.)

I loved our Christmas tree as well as the old glass ornaments. We didn’t buy new ornaments every year, nor did we decorate with a theme. Our tree had ornaments that had weathered many a Christmas season. Each one was unpacked and hung on the tree with a child’s wonder. I still have my very favorite one…the one with Silent Night and a frosty old church inscribed on it.

I loved flashlights. We lived in the country, where the nights were dark and the stars shone bright and the Milky Way was visible. We didn’t have mercury vapor lights way back then…or at least we didn’t. So if you needed to check on a sound outside, or walk to the barn to check on a cow, or make shadow figures on the ceiling…a flashlight was a necessary part of life.

Here’s my wish for everyone on my very small gift list: Be warm…Be happy and filled with wonder…and Let your light Shine.

So that’s what my four favorite people get. Warmth, Wonder, and Light.

Everybody else gets…well…nothing. Settle down…I’m saving you from experiencing the worst Christmas gifts ever. Don’t be disappointed.  At least you didn’t get any home-made crap from me this year!

Is Your Mental Health my Responsibility?

Mental Health… is  your mental health my responsibility? If it is…then you’re screwed.

by Peggy Browning

your mental health

Please don’t allow me to be responsible for your mental health.
stockimages/freedigitalphotos.net

I must ask again…is your mental health my responsibility? Please, I beg you, don’t make me responsible for it.

You will be sorely disappointed. And I’m sorry for that. Please don’t take anything I say as a personal affront. My opinion doesn’t matter…well, it does in my life, but my opinion does not matter to your life!

I am not an unkind person. But I often say the first thing that pops into my mind. Wild and crazy words race to my mouth, totally unfiltered and I say them. If you are standing in the way of this verbal barrage, then you might be wounded. Not mortally wounded, but you might be a little bit stunned.

Believe me, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wouldn’t be mean to you on purpose…ever. But my smart mouth gets me in trouble all the time. And I usually don’t even recognize that what I said was offensive to you.

If you are a store clerk or a waitress, you might want to check your mental health before you wait on me.

There’s a reason for this.

So here’s what happened today.

I went to the local JC Penney’s store because I wanted to look at the dresses and see what’s available that I might squeeze my plump hiney in for my daughter’s wedding in August. I know…I have about four months, but I just wanted to see what’s out there that’s considered fashionably acceptable.

As soon as I stepped inside the store… I mean, the door was still swooshing shut behind me…a young woman said, “Hello, honey. How are you today?”

And I said, “Well, I’m just fine, Sugs. How about you?” (Sugs – noun. Pronounced shoogs if you’re from the South or Texas)

She looked at me like I had slapped her. I didn’t even know I was being offensive, but her look told me differently. I was just being a smart ass and answering her like she had addressed me. I had expected her to laugh. She didn’t.

I guess she thought “honey” was a proper, even friendly, way to address an older woman. Perhaps her supervisor had even told her to call older women sugary, stupid names. I don’t blame the clerk…but I don’t like to be called honey and sweetie and baby. Ma’am works for me.

I don’t know of any woman my age who likes to be called those names. It feels condescending and like clerks and waitresses are trying to convince themselves they like you well enough to wait on you.

But back to the story… I felt like I had damaged this woman’s mental health (at least for 30 seconds or so) because she seemed hurt when I called her “Sugs.” And this is the lesson I wanted to teach, but didn’t because I didn’t dare to hurt her feelings any more than I already had:

Don’t let your self-worth or self-esteem be measured by what someone else says even if they are an asshole (especially if they are an asshole.) And never, ever, ever, ever put your mental health and well being into the hands of someone else. That is your own treasure.

Don’t let the careless words of someone who doesn’t matter to you at all harm you. Let it pass, their opinion of you doesn’t matter. And neither does mine.

I went back to Sugs’s register after I looked at dresses and chose a t-shirt for my grandson. We ended up laughing about silly stuff…I told her about my grandson talking about farts all the time which is pretty funny if it doesn’t annoy you to death.

I don’t know the state of Sugs’s mental health when I left, but I hope she doesn’t hold me responsible.

 

Public School Transgender Bathroom Policies and Real Life Consequences

Public School Transgender Bathroom Policies and Real Life Consequences

 

By Peggy Browning

 

Transgender bathroom policies have real life consequences.

I need to pee. Where can I go? Not here, not there, not anywhere.
Public School Transgender bathroom policies have real life consequences.

Please allow me a few minutes of your time to tell you about the real life consequences of public school transgender bathroom policies.

I taught for 16 years in Texas public schools. The last two years were spent as home-bound education coordinator for a school system with an enrollment of 14,000+ students.  My job was to teach students who were unable to attend school due to health reasons including cancer, mononucleosis, surgery, broken bones, bone marrow transplants, mental health issues, and various other causes. A physician prescribed placement to home-bound instruction if the illness was determined to impede the student’s ability to attend school on campus.

In 2010, the Texas Education Agency allowed students up to four hours per week of home-bound instruction. A teacher goes to the student’s home or to an appointed meeting place and provides four hours of direct instruction. Usually that instruction time was divided in two 2-hour periods two times per week.

It is the home-bound teacher’s responsibility to gather all work from other teachers and the child’s campus and help the student do the assigned work. The teacher then acts as a liaison between the campus and the student and returns the work, etc. to the original teacher who then grades and records the result and assigns grades for the time period whether it is a semester, a six weeks period, nine weeks or whatever.

So…a student was assigned to me for home-bound services. A junior high student…with problems other than physical ailments. This student was transgender and was causing a kerfuffle about using the restroom.

The student, who I will call Charlie, had other issues, like an un-diagnosed learning disability, anxiety, and being a victim of childhood sexual abuse. Those issues alone were enough to create problems for the kid. Unfortunately, lots of kids have those same issues.

However, the one issue that set Charlie apart and adrift from the public school system was being transgender.

Public School Transgender Bathroom Policies

Public School Transgender bathroom policies

Charlie wore skirts, cute shoes, make-up and had a really cute hair-do. (Image purchased from canstockphoto.com)

 

Charlie was in 8th grade and wore skirts, cute shoes, and make-up and had a great hair-do. Charlie identified in every way as a female, except one: genitalia.  Charlie had a penis, so was expected to use the boys’ restroom.

And that, along with other things, caused a shit storm at the junior high.

Charlie was assigned to the special school for emotionally disturbed kids where students received counseling and attended small classes with specially trained teachers. But Charlie couldn’t stay there forever due to funding and insurance and budget cuts and all that stuff.

And Charlie couldn’t return to the junior high campus because the tide had already turned there and Charlie wasn’t really welcome any more. There were too many problems with bullying and bathrooms and dress code violations.

 

 

So, Charlie became my student and we had a great time twice a week trying to learn basic geometry and the fricking Pythagorean theorem. We didn’t get a lot of work done, but we talked a lot about life. And about being different. And about being OK with yourself. And about God loving you for who you are…because if you believe in God, you have to believe that God made you that way.

And if you believe only in DNA, then you have to believe your DNA made you that way. Either way, you have to accept yourself whether other people accept you or not.

But here is another major issue that Charlie and I faced…

You don’t get a lot of education in four hours per week… even with a fantastic teacher like me. 

 

The Consequences of Public School Transgender Bathroom Policies

The consequences of the public school transgender bathroom policies brouhaha at the school district resulted in Charlie basically being denied a FAPE … a Free Appropriate Public Education, which is the legal right of every student who is attending a public school in every single state in the United States.

That is the law. That is Title IX. That is the legal right of every public school student.

So, school districts across ‘Mureca…get your act together and decide how everyone on campus can use the bathroom in peace and harmony.

It is your legal obligation to provide the Free Appropriate Public Education that is due each and every child no matter whether they sit down or stand up to pee.

And while you’re looking at those requirements, you need to examine the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, too. No matter how you classify a student, everyone has the right to use the restroom at school.

And for my dear friend and lovely human being, Charlie…this one is just for you. I believe that United States Attorney General Loretta Lynch is looking out for your best interests.

Change of life … what matters to me now

Change of Life … what matters to me now

by Peggy Browning

Peggy Browning

Planting a tree in Costa Rica.

It’s time for a change again. Honestly I go through a major change of life about once every 5 years or so.

However, in the last five years, I have made more changes than I thought I was capable of. I sold the house I loved, moved to another state, quit the job that was supposed to give me pension and sustain me through the rest of my life.

Almost five years ago, I started a blog written specifically for women who were over 50. I wrote a book about how turning 50 had given me a boost toward living a fuller life. I wanted to share that little bit of insight with other women.  I was a bit before my time, as I usually am with any good idea that I find I want to do.

Being “before my time” doesn’t mean I’m a great success at anything. It usually means that I start a project…nobody likes it…I quit…then other people come along and make a success of a version of my idea. Not that they are stealing my idea. It’s not that at all. It’s just that good ideas are floating out in the Universe and lots of people pick up on those ideas.

What I’ve found out about the over-50 blogs is that they are a lot like Facebook. Everybody has an incredibly fashionable, totally spiritual, amazingly healthy and happy life on their blog. They eat off the good china, have goddess spa days, and treat themselves like the special people they are. The life that’s being touted as aging with style, aging with panache, aging with youth and vigor intact…well, it’s like a Being Over 50 is Great club. Clubs have rules… like how to look younger, how to have better sex even though you are not that interested but you know young people are so you try to be too, how to dress appropriately, how to wear your hair, and how to apply your make-up.

I’ve spent my life trying to wriggle free of rules. I see no reason to start following rules now. It takes all the fun out of things.

Change of life. Again.

Anyway…I am now 60 years old. And I’m feeling very  different than I did ten years ago. I feel like I’ve been there, done that, settled a lot of questions about life and love and whatnot. I’m now tired of encouraging women to seek their own way, to be mindful, and to follow their dreams.

My unsettled thoughts and feelings are now suddenly settled since this last birthday. When I was 50 and 50+ I was trying to follow a dream and re-set my life’s course. And I did it.

Now I’m tired of talking about it. I just want to live this crazy little life I’m engaged in. I’m having fun.

Another Change of life

Peggy Browning author

My 1955 name is Peggy. It was #51 in popularity that year. In 2015, I would be named Hailey, which is also #51 in popularity for this year.

Maybe 60 is the Magic Age. Could be.  But, I won’t be talking about how great being 60 is. I’m just going to enjoy it.

So I’m changing the premise of my website and blog. I’m just going to write about what I want to write about. That means I’ll be posting stories about where I go and what I did and what I read and what I cooked. I’m just writing about what I enjoy.

And I enjoy a lot of things.

I enjoy exploring this new place where I live. I enjoy meeting new people and hearing their stories. I enjoy following the crazy politics of the state of Oklahoma. I enjoy writing and telling stories.

And one more change of life.

I will no longer be telling anyone how to age gracefully and gratefully. I’m just going to live my life and write about what concerns me.

And the rest of you folks under 60 are on your own because I’m not making any rules for you to follow!

Go forth and be happy. Or don’t. It’s your choice…and I have no advice to give you about how to act, dress, or have sex.

Stop by and visit with me sometime.  I will be right here, telling long-winded stories about the things I see and the people I meet and the things that matter to me.

The Value of Stuff …Everything You Need

The Value of Stuff

by Peggy Browning

Value of stuff

Harkerware dishes

The Value of Stuff … Finding everything you could possibly need. Have you ever had one of those days where you find everything you need? At just the right time? And exactly the right price? And the plus side of it is that it is also pleasing to your eyes?

I had one of those days yesterday. It was great. I am still happy about it…30 hours later, I still have a “Dang, what a bargain!” afterglow.

Six months ago, I completely upheaved (as in drastic upheaval) my life. Sold and gave away most of my possessions and moved to a place I had never been before. I loaded up my car with a few books, lots of photographs, some clothing, my rocking chair, my Mama’s rolling pin, a 40 year old Bundt pan and my laptop.

New start. New place. New life. No regrets…blah, blah, blah. Few attachments to this materialistic world filled with STUFF. The zen of minimalism, you know. The value of tidying up and all that jazz.

But the truth is this: I miss my stuff. I know I’m not supposed to. It is, after all, just stuff. I have what is supposed to mean the most to me…memories, photographs, and whatnot. But dang it, I have to confess…I do like stuff.

I like dishes and cookware and baking pans. I like paintings and curtains and rugs. I like pillows and paints and hand tools. And books. Always books.

value of stuff

I gave all my stuff away and now I miss it. Thank goodness I can re-stock at rummage sales!

The value of stuff is not necessarily monetary. The value of  stuff is what gives me a sense of security and satisfaction. I don’t require fancy, expensive stuff. I once pulled a leather purse out of a Dumpster and was very, very happy with it. Only much later did my sister reveal to me that it was a Louis Vuitton…and I had no clue who Louis Vuitton or his purses were.

Anyway…I have been lacking in stuff for a while. My stuff…things that I take pleasure in looking at and using and hanging on my windows and walls. I miss my battery operated screw driver. I miss my dishes and various cups that I collected over the years. I miss my handy little set of screwdrivers.

But yesterday….oh, yesterday was a BONANZA! I went to a church rummage sale after 12 noon. And they were having a bag sale.

“Only $1 per bag. Stuff a bag and take all this rummage away!

Please, we just want to go home and watch the Final Four of March Madness.”

That, my dear friends, is my favorite kind of sale.

I found a set of dishes…not just any set, mind you. This is Harkerware, Springtime design from the 1950s. Eight plates with bowls, saucers and cups.

value of stuff

Pretty glassware and a Hall teapot

Turquoise vintage glassware, 5 matching glasses and 1 coordinating glass. Two Corelle divided plates. Three Very Very Old china serving dishes. A green Hall teapot. And a treasure trove of old books including Readings in Rural Sociology, dated 1922.

It makes me happy just to look at it. When I get wherever I’m going to land…I now have a set of beautiful dishes, some beautiful glasses, some old books to peruse, and something to plan around.

The total cost of all these treasures? $1.50. Yes…one dollar and fifty cents. By the time I got my bags stuffed, the price had been cut to TWO bags for $1.

I know I’m not supposed to place a lot of meaning on the value of stuff. But, honestly, I’m feeling quite satisfied and content right now.

Late sleepers … finally vindicated

Late sleepers…Read this article from Vox…

late sleepers

If you’re a late sleeper, you don’t have to feel guilty any longer. Turns out science says it’s OK.
image: freedigitalphotos.net

I read this article after waking up at 7:00 a.m. I was still tired, so I went back to bed after reading it. I felt justified in going back to bed. Turns out that science says it’s good to be a late sleeper.

Hooray for us!

So what if the early bird gets the worm, I never liked worms that much anyway.

 

 

Source: Late sleepers are tired of being discriminated against. And science has their back. – Vox

Rev. Robert Palladino, Apple Fonts, Steve Jobs and Me

Father Palladino was a world-renowned master of calligraphy who taught Steve Jobs the importance — and aesthetics — of scripts.

Source: Rev. Robert Palladino, Scribe Who Shaped Apple’s Fonts, Dies at 83 – The New York Times

How Apple Fonts, Steve Jobs, and ultimately Rev. Robert Palladino saved me…

 

 

Apple Fonts

I am a word nerd, a font fan. Thank you, Rev. Robert Pallidino, Apple fonts and Steve Jobs.

I have to confess that I am a cursive handwriting, calligraphy, and Apple font nerd. I am irrationally fond of all things that concern ways to make beautiful words.

Fonts inspired me to go for it…to follow a dream…to love what I love and accept that I am meant to work at a different career than what I have previously pursued. I know that sounds crazy. But we all get our inspiration from different things. I got mine from typeset.

How Apple Fonts, Steve Jobs, and ultimately Rev. Robert Palladino saved me…

Here’s a short version of a very long story. In 2011 I had a job that I despised. I got so sick that I couldn’t work…because I hated my damn job so much. So I took some sick time to decide what I was going to do. It was a hard decision…should I just suck it up and go back to that totally shitty job? It was the best paying job I’d ever had…benefits, dental insurance, burial insurance. I was pretty sure I was going to need that burial insurance if I continued working there.

It was nice day in October, I was at home on FMLA. Steve Jobs had just died from pancreatic cancer and I was watching coverage of it.  One of the news stations was playing a graduation speech that he had given at a college graduation. He told a story about going to college and hating every minute of it. So he took a calligraphy class and he loved it. He said that he didn’t finish college, but he stayed interested in the beautiful work of calligraphy and that’s where the Apple fonts originated. And he talked about the importance of doing what you love. And we all know what Steve Jobs accomplished, like him or not.

I sobbed as I listened to his commencement speech. I was 56 years old and I was starting completely over. I knew I wasn’t ever going back to my shitty job. I was determined to follow my heart and find the path I had strayed from so many, many years before. And that’s what I’m doing now.

All because Steve Jobs skipped out on his college courses and took a calligraphy class from Father Palladino instead. For that, guys…you have my undying gratitude.

 

Father Palladino was a world-renowned master of calligraphy who taught Steve Jobs the importance — and aesthetics — of scripts.

Source: Rev. Robert Palladino, Scribe Who Shaped Apple’s Fonts, Dies at 83 – The New York Times

What if we liked ourselves?

What if we liked ourselves?

we liked ourselves

“If tomorrow, women woke up and decided they really liked their bodies, just think how many industries would go out of business.” —Gail Dines, professor of sociology and women’s studies at Wheelock College in Boston
image by stockimages/freedigitalphotos.net

 

I’m serious. What would happen if we women decided that we liked ourselves just as we are?

If we accepted our age spots? If we accepted our body shape? If we accepted clothing as merely a utilitarian body covering to keep us warm and dry and comfortable? If we accepted our hair color just as it is? If we no longer lined our eyes with kohl or lengthened our lashes with mascara?

What would happen if we stopped searching for our beauty in a mirror and simply forgot about our looks? What would happen if we stopped dressing for each other and started dressing for ourselves? What would happen if we stopped thinking about how other people see us?

What would happen if we decided to use the time and money that we spend obsessing about outward appearances and did something more worthwhile?

A Fine Revolution

I’m thinking that we could start a revolution, if only we liked ourselves and stopped fretting about how we look. Am I the only one thinking this? Am I out of step with my gender?

I know that I am utterly exhausted with all this wasted effort.

If we took our minds off trying to staunch the flow of the fleeting beauty of our youth, maybe we could develop into more beautiful beings than we can now even imagine.

Maybe we could use our time and energy to find cures for common diseases. Maybe we could support the efforts of other women, rather than competing with them. Maybe we could prevent wars and promote peace. Maybe we would be more curious, more accepting, more giving, more loving, more creative, more inclusive.

Maybe if we decided to accept “us” and love “us”, we would decide to accept “them” and love “them” too. Maybe we would dance more, laugh more, love more and live more. And maybe, just maybe…that glow that we are longing for would shine from the inside and be recognized on the outside.

 

Dear Oprah: Don’t Mess with the Thin Woman Inside Me

dear Oprah

stockimages/freedigitalphotos.net

Dear Oprah,

Oh my dear Oprah, I have listened to you speak about issues for more years now than I care to count.

You have done many good and inspiring things. Heck, you started a mini-revolution in the publishing industry just by recommending books to read. Dozens of authors can personally thank you for reading their book, suggesting it as a good read, and initiating a rocket launch for their book sales.

Lots of women listened when you spoke.They still do.

But, now you should listen to me.

It’s time that you give up on this weight loss thing. I don’t care what you personally do about your own weight, but stop trying to influence the rest of us.

Recently you said, dear Oprah, and I quote:

Inside every overweight woman is the woman she knows she can become. – Oprah –

 

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I am already the woman I know I can become. I became her a long time ago.

I am sixty years old. And I finally feel OK about myself. I don’t need you to transfer your insecurities about your own weight issues to me. I don’t have any of those insecurities any more.

I’m over it.

I don’t have a thin woman inside me who is trying to get out. Long ago, that thin woman said “fuck it” and just started living her own life.

Now that woman in me is just fine with the way she looks and the way she feels and the way she dresses  and the make-up she wears. She is fabulous and smart and funny and kind and sarcastic and hard-working and creative and wise. And she’s soft in all the right places, especially her heart.

I like her a lot. She used to be such a whiny bitch, but she finally succumbed to age and red velvet cake and we get along just fine now.

So, please, dear Oprah…it is time we parted ways. I know you just bought 10% of Weight Watchers stock, but I don’t need you to tell me to that there’s someone wonderful inside me if I could just lose enough fat to find her.

I know where she is. And she’s happy. Leave her alone.