The Life & Opinions of a Late GenX-er/Early Millennial
“Girls! Girls!” a large, middle-aged man in a bright yellow safety vest hollered at me and my new friend from across the parking lot as we walked away from my rental car. I turned slowly around, cocked an eyebrow and didn’t begin moving in his direction until my companion did. “Yes?” I asked with a touch of attitude as we neared him. He’d yelled out to us like we’d done something wrong. “Where are you girls going?” So far I liked nothing about this encounter.
I’ve been thinking about my weight since I was 13. One day I ate everything I wanted with abandon and the next, the size of my thighs were cause for angst. Thirteen is about when I started working out. My mom had a catalog of Jane Fonda videos from the 80s and I was Jane Fonda’s devoted follower. She looked hot in spandex and my thighs did not. Jane still looks hot today. It’s unreal. I also became a devotee of Joyce Vedral and her fat-burning workout. I thank her to this day for my interest in being fit and toned. I’ve been known to get a little intense about my interests. My poor parents. As a teen, upon being presented with “soaked in the deep fryer” chicken for dinner, I exclaimed with dramatic horror: