THE DREAM OF A FLAT TUMMY

I did it.

After thinking about it for months and months and months, I ordered a jar of Yves Rocher “Flat Abs” cream. It is now standing on my dresser. I have rubbed the gooey pale orange creamy-gel stuff two times already, clockwise, on my poor sagging stretch-marked tummy.  So far, no difference.

I didn’t renew my gym subscription. Last time I went, my arms and legs ached for more than a week, and I felt angry- I felt like bashing the gym instructor’s head in with a dumbbell. I’ve given up trying to control what I eat- I never really tried that hard anyway. I tend grow sad and nervous if I feel  am denying myself something, and terrible things start to happen.

I hate my post-second-pregnancy tummy. I don’t really like my sausage-shaped upper arms, or my legs which can be best described as “sturdy” either, but the tummy I really hate. It’s not just big, but distended and sagging. My youngest child is going on six years old, and my tummy still looks as if I gave birth yesterday. Even the damn cesearean scar looks fresh and red.

Yves Rocher, harnessing the botanical magic of plants, is going to fix all that. So it claims. My convocation photos convinced me. Walking down the theatre stage in cap and gown, my black gown billows apart, revealing a tummy that looks at least six months pregnant. I didn’t order any of my convocation photos.

So, Gentle Reader, I invite you to be my witness. If I had the guts and my old cellphone, I would have taken a picture, a “before” photo, and uploaded it here, my private space. My words will have to do. In a month, I will report the results.

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