I am going to try to write this without sounding whiny or shallow or overly vain. Try.
Here’s what’s going on: I have a new body that I’m learning to dress, and I’m not happy about either—that is, the new body or having to learn to dress it.
I’ve always had a good body. I mostly took it for granted, though I was reminded of it often by both women and men. When I would read studies that said “women don’t like their bodies,: I’d think “not this woman.” And I always dressed with confidence because of that. I had a good idea of what looked good on me because so many things did. Dressing myself wasn’t that hard.
Provocative clothes have never been my thing, but I have always leaned toward what was fitted—not a lot of wiggle room. That’s changing now. I’ve heard and read many times that middle-aged women—even those who are not overweight—tend to put on weight around the middle. I assumed this didn’t apply to me. I was fit, hadn’t been pregnant, and have a pretty healthy diet. Why would I suddenly get a belly? Well, ummm, because I’m middle-aged? (Actually, that might be an understatement; I’m only middle-aged if I’m going to live to be 112).
So about six months ago, I started to thicken around the middle. I was pissed. Still am. I started to run again—against doctor’s orders—as a way to try to offset this. I wrote about it in my blog, The Spinsterlicious Life. http://www.thespinsterliciouslife.com/2011/07/my-knees-my-gut.html I wanted to chronicle it because I assumed it would be temporary and I would look back at it someday and smile.
Not smiling yet.
A short while ago, though, I stumbled across something called “ruching.”