Asking the loaded question


Women thrive on assessments. We take online surveys, we don’t have to get our arms twisted to see the doctor, we constantly look in the mirror.

“Am I alright?”

Complete this survey in  your mind. The answer you get the most is:

1. You betcha.

2. You’re getting there.

3. I don’t think so.

4. OMG

 

If you are often blessed with the first answer: Get out of my face. You are my brother’s wife, my friend’s wife who is magically talented in so many ways, or one of my friends who is the perfect size-6 mother. I love them, I acknowledge them, and I do everything I can to not feel as though I’m a social, fashion, or life DON’T when I am in their presence.

If you hear “You’re getting there,” as I often do, you know that the hapless victim you asked, aka The Husband, is just trying to get through the day without having to inflate your self esteem. It’s exhausting for them. I sometimes think that if guys knew they had to constantly reassure the women they plan to marry they might rethink the whole thing and just stick to being Friends With Benefits. Heh.

I don’t have a friend close enough to tell me the last two answers, so I do that for myself. Right now I’m recovering from yet another fitness failure. You know it’s partly because of having been laid up with an injury for a while, but it’s also getting comfortable with NOT waking up early for a workout, or NOT getting on my bicycle trainer after work. It’s an awful existence. I look in the mirror and groan and whine. As a result, my husband fixed up my at-home trainer with a bigger ring, a few more links in my chain, and the Garmin computer. Why? Because I love the feedback I get. I want to see the calories I burned, the cadence I achieved. I know that it will all translate into thinner thighs, a taut tummy, tight triceps and a beautiful disposition. Someday. Sigh.

It also lets the man in my life off the hook. I think he likes that. I think all guys like that. Maybe I should survey them?