Whipped Creme Santas

Back in October, I decided to make an appointment to take a seat in an egg-shaped spaceship-esque contraption known as the "BodPod" at my former gym. It informed me that my percentage of body fat was that of an "elite athlete" (um, someone please give my middle and high school P.E. teachers a call. I think they'd go into cardiac arrest). Anyway, since then, I've been trying to gain some weight to hopefully get it into a more "normal person" category.

Sounds like fun, right?

Careful what you wish for. Somehow, gorging myself on sweets and such isn't quite as fun as one might imagine it. Anyway, since then I've gained about seven pounds and had been hoping that meant I was on the fast-track to my middle school self (i.e., completely unathletic in both ability [which, by the way, has gone unchanged anyway] and in body fat percentage). Unfortunately, I had another nutrition appointment this afternoon and found out that I am still too low.

So the nutritionist asked what I've been eating each day. And though I'd intended on pretending like I was a fabulous eater who feasts on leafy greens each night (ha! In my husband's dreams!), word vomit happened and I spilled the beans on my naughty eating habits: candy, ice cream and (gasp!) non whole-wheat english muffins! What a silly girl I've been. What have I been thinking?

Let's just say she was only slightly appalled at my eating choices.

And she shared her disdain of them with me by telling me that though I look slim now, I have many tomorrows ahead of me. Whoopsies. And that the food choices I'm making will do some fancy converting thing (I didn't quite follow what she was saying) and wind up as fat on my glutes.

That's right, my friends. All those fluffy, whipped creme Santas (59 of them, to be exact. If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you'll remember I bought a hefty amount of whipped creme hearts after Valentine's Day last year -- these are the same, only in Santa format) I bought on the day after Christmas for 19 cents apiece are all going to end up making me have something in common with the man who the confections are shaped after: a large butt.

Hey thanks, nutritionist lady. Great way to get me to put on a few more pounds and get where I need to be, body-fat-percentage-wise: tell me I'm going to end up with a monster-sized tush. Granted, I totally get where she was going with it all: to gain weight the healthy way, not the candy way. But still... really?

Anyway, on the bright side, if my butt does get bigger, it might rival that of J. Lo... which is what one of my fellow third grade teachers offered to call me this week because of my enlarging ba-donk-a-donk (thank you, squats and lunges!). At that point, I didn't think I had anything on her -- but apparently if I keep this up, I just may.

Whatevs. I totally decided to not put in a work-out after my nutritionist appointment. And then I totally went home and ate one of those delicious, butt-enlarging whipped creme Santas. Bring it on!