Thursday, 28 March 2013

My muffin


My muffin
28 March 2013

My brave and foolish husband, has taken to calling me, “Muffin”.  Not cool.  And just to clarify, lest there be any confusion, he is not talking about muffins of the edible and mostly sweet variety.  He is talking about my alleged (I do actually have one) and supposed (yip, there for sure) belly peering over the top of my pants.  Once again – really not cool.

Oddly enough, he seems surprised that my “charming” new nickname has not endeared him to me at all.  Actually, I don’t really think he was going for endearment to start off with.  And so, he’s probably not all that surprised.  I reckon he’s merely trying to get my goat, annoy me and get my back up.  And big up to him.  It’s clearly working.

So, yes there’s a bit of a muffin top at times.  However, the size of my muffin, is directly proportional to the tightness of the pants I’m wearing on any given day.  There is also a strong correlation between the muffin top severity and the length of my shirt.  If I’m wearing a short-ish shirt and tight-ish pair of pants or shorts, then my muffin is rather well risen.  As in an excess of yeast in evidence.  And in the same manner, if my pants are slightly looser and my shirt is slightly longer, my muffin is practically non-existent.

It is also true though, that the muffin directly relates to my fat.  The fat that is there.  Sad though that fat fact may be.  Because, much as I wish it was not so, it does exist.  Intellectually, I know I’m not grotesquely overweight, but there certainly is a bit of excess.  But then again, there are certain factors to take into account.  I don’t exercise at all.  I don’t do the gym.  I don’t swim.  I don’t run.  I don’t even jog.  I don’t Zumba,  Kick box, heck I don’t even Wii Fit.  In order to keep fit, I lift Jumping Castles.  Though technically, I do it less to be fit.  It’s more a case of it being my job and not having much of a choice in the matter.  And over the years I’ve noticed something rather remarkable.  I don’t seem to be getting any thinner or any fitter by lifting Jumping Castles.  I am merely getting stronger.  And thus, my husband doesn’t mess with me at all.  I’d take that boy down in a fight.  At least, that’s what I’d like him to believe (not entirely sure he does though).  It gives me a bit of an edge.  Good to keep those husband folk guessing and on their toes.

Still, the whole “muffin” term of endearment irked me none the less.  I even went so far as to tell him that I have never, not once in our twenty three years together called him “Beach-Ball-Belly-Boy”.  Not once!!!  Very kind of me if you ask my opinion.  Furthermore, apart from calling him Dr Evil with his bald head every so often (merely as a term of endearment of course), I’m always complimentary about his physique.

And so, one day, I met up with someone (a friend of ours) and he asked me how the “Bald-headed-wonder” (his term, not mine) was.  To which I replied, that he was skating on thin ice.  And upon enquiring as to why, I enlightened him as to the “muffin”.

And you know what his response was?  He said, and I quote, “tell the bald-headed-wonder to be careful – some men like muffins”.  It’s true.  And it gave me such a good laugh.  Probably because it is so very true.  There is no accounting for what some people find attractive in others.  Or what they don’t.  This guy wasn’t flirting with me, or being inappropriate, he was merely being funny and joking.  Still, there probably is a certain ring of truth in there.

It is amazing, how we all have different things that float our boats.  I was at varsity with a girl, who was adamant from the very first moment that I met her that her future husband would drive a Bakkie, as in a pick-up truck.  Oh, really, I remarked?  I wondered if he drove one already.  Well, she wasn’t really sure she replied, as she hadn’t even met him yet.  Huh?  So we were talking about her dream guy then?  And so I asked her, if she had any requirements for other distinguishing features or characteristics she would perhaps want?  Maybe a brunette or a blonde?  A muscular build or more slim?  Any particular job she would like him to have?  Must he be a teacher, a lawyer, a doctor, an architect, a businessman?  And you know what?  She didn’t give a hoot.  As long as he drove a Bakkie, that was all that mattered to her.  It tickled me pink.  And in the end, she did marry a man with a Bakkie.  A farmer, if memory serves.

And thus, back to the muffin thing.  Grant doesn’t really think I’m fat.  Even when I’ve been really porky (and I have in the past), he’s never said a word.  He likes me just the way I am.  He truly does.  Irrespective of my weight.  In fact, I’d venture so far as to say that he really digs me.  Big time.  Added to that, muffins are nice.  Particularly the chocolatey ones.  And I know that Grant likes them too.

Though truth be told, he doesn’t particularly like it when I wear my orange sweater.  He’s not complimentary about that one at all.  And when my newly washed hair makes tufts on either side of my head, he calls them my horns.

Watch out Baldie!  As mentioned before – I’ll take you down.  Dr Evil or not.

 
Today has been a low-rise muffin day - thankfully
 
 

Though to be truthful, for the pic, I felt like I was pulling my belly right through to the back of my spine, I sucked my stomach in so hard. And no, I've never taken a photo of my tummy before.
 
 
 

 

4 comments:

  1. You look drop dead gorgeous!
    Muffin....my arse!

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