With less than 24 hours left on the island before heading to the States for the April semester break I should have been packing. Instead I was parked in front of my laptop on iTunes searching for music to create the ultimate work-out playlist. After spending the afternoon at Mullet with the guys and Jameson’s classmates, I felt like a highly functioning walking/talking panic disorder. Every time I was around a group of students I got blasted with some comment about my age, my flabby arms, my breast size (really, why do we even need to go there). Today it was my belly and I’d reached my limit.
“Wife,” Jameson cooed while walking up to me. He seemed scared. I wasn’t sure if he was pitying me or questioning if I’d come unhinged. “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” I asked back and peeled my eyes off of the monitor. “Welllll… I’m just searching for songs so I can make a work-out playlist. You know a playlist for me and the baby.”
There it was. The elephant just stepped out of the shadows and was standing in the middle of the room.
“Kel, that girl was an idiot. Seriously. Why are you getting worked up about this? Ignore her. Everyone thinks she’s a moron. Shit, I heard her asking one of the other students if MCB2 was a ‘do-over’ for MCB.”
I pushed my chair back from the kitchen table, also my makeshift desk during the week, and got up to go pour myself another chardonnay. Huh. Was this part of the reason the Trixie thought I was preggs? I held the refrigerator door open and thought while Jameson crossed his arms and let out a huge sigh. Nah, not finishing off the wine wasn’t an option. I can’t leave it for 12 days and expect to drink it when we’re back. I grabbed the bottle and shut the door.
“Babe, thank you for your support, “ I said over my shoulder. “And, before you say anything else, I KNOW you can tell I’ve gained weight since our move. No, don’t interrupt to try and make me feel better. I guess I didn’t realize the 6 pounds I put on were centered on my belly and this,” I said while grabbing my midsection, “could be mistaken for carrying a child.” Who was I kidding? I wasn’t planning on packing my COH or 7’s because I had a muffin top. I was the new chairperson for Ewww, Gross. To hell with my coffee mug, I just drank straight from the bottle.
Jameson’s mouth dropped open, but he closed it quickly when he realized there were only 2 swallows left in the bottle. Better to not poke the bear at this point.
“Wife, you do what you need to do.”
“I am. I’m making a playlist.”
“Okaaaayyy… want me to look at what you’ve got so far?”
I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms in return. “Sure, but no digs about my musical selection. Too much stress isn’t good for the baby.”
Jameson laughed, sat down facing my laptop and added, “Well, you haven’t lost your wit.”
Pulling up my ‘Curbcheck the Trixie’ playlist, he started muttering songs and artists out loud, “Run DMC, Eminem, Hot and Cold, Aha, Sandstorm, Save the World. Wife, I get the impression your playlist has a personality disorder. What is this? Oh my gawd! You have Flock of Seagulls on here?”
Mental checklist: husband doesn’t appreciate the one hit wonders. I find this maddening.
“Um, yeah. I love that song. Besides, I was just kind of putting whatever on there for now until I can figure out what I’m going to do for my workouts and then I’ll cater the songs at that point.”
Jameson pulled me down so I was sitting on his lap. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the forehead. Damn. This was the international symbol for pending pep talk. I must look even worse than I think I do - I’ve turned into Eddy from ‘Absolutely Fabulous’.
“Wife, living on this island is hard for all of us. I know you miss your friends, your life, the gym…” He just let that one hang. “I get it. I appreciate the sacrifices you and Grey are making. So, do what you need to do. Make your playlist, plan your workouts and then after the break focus on YOU. But, let’s go home and have fun!”
With that he gave me a squeeze, stood me up and then headed off to the bedroom. No doubt to finish packing. I shut down my laptop and decided I needed to pack if I was going to go home and see my family. I needed to end this little pity party and start getting my ass in gear. Third semester I was turning over a new leaf. The thought of my soon-to-be break up with Robert Mondavi motivated me out of my chair and toward the bedroom.
Mental checklist: while home taste test for diet wines that don’t suck. Oh, and by some yoga pants. But, do NOT taste test while lounging comfortably in the yoga pants. Recipe for disaster.
