AFRO

You know how all the experts (Oprah) say things like, "Follow your passion!" "If you want to be a success, you need to do what you KNOW!" Stuff like that? Yeah, well, guess what ladies? Guess who's going to make the most out of her ENORMOUS, GIRTHY PASSION?! That's right! MOI! That's French for me. I know. It looks like you'd pronounce it, "moy," doesn't it? Kind of like when I kept reading about having a paradigm shift, but I pronounced it "pair-a-diggim." Or like when I read about the girl named "Foe-ebb." Yeah, that would be Phoebe. I amaze even me. Or moi. Anyway, where were we...

Here's what got me thinkin' like this. See, this morning I once again got on the "you've got to exercise, dammit!" bandwagon, and thus flopped down in a sullen pudding puddle on the floor of my bedroom. I yanked the stupid 5 and 8 pound weights out from under the bed~(couldn't find the 3's)~and got to work. For a full 20 minutes. Only two or three breaks in between, so determined was I. The moment I hit my numbers, I rolled the weights back under my bed frame and using the covers as leverage, pulleyed myself back into bed. Then went into a snory slumber, within like 3 seconds~not even shizzing. It wasn't my fault. I'd put my body into shock and that was all it knew to do.

"WHAT THE CRAP WAS THAT?! Did she...did she just EXERCISE?! Before noon thirty? What the...?!! Seriously? Does she think we'll just RESPOND to her demands, like a ransom note for her kidnapped figure? News flash, honey~just because the word "mini-eggs" is behind the word "CADBURY" doesn't make it a baby portion of protein. It's not muscle you've been building with that diet...it's chin. And CHIN looks hideous in yellow gingham dresses."

Body is really kind of snarky and abusive. But he's all I have...and I LOVE HIM...HE NEEDS ME! WE LOVE EACH OTHER! AND HE'LL CHANGE! HE TOLD ME SO!!!

Anyway, body went into recovery mode, and I went unconscious. But when I awoke, all blurry eyed and wiggly armed, I remembered a great conversation I had with some "ladies who lunch." Somebody brought up the intriguing medical procedure of FAT HARVESTING, where they take fat out of somewhere like a rump, and inject it into wherever you're lacking. Like for me, it would be my "only thing on my body with a high metabolism" lips.

So basically rump lips.

Which gives fresh meaning to "talking out of your..." well, you're familiar with the verse.

So as we all discussed where we would TAKE the fat from, and where we'd have it INJECTED, suddenly, I realized that I AM A FAT HARVESTER! There was hardly a spot on my body in NEED of an injection, but OH SO MANY CHOICES of where to pull the necessary lipoid.

And THEN I had the epiphany, "OH MY HOLY COW! I AM A FAT SOD FARM!" That's right. A FAT SOD FARM! Just like a sod farm grows grass for the barren soil, I can grow FAT for the barren bellied! Almost like being a surrogate~which is incredibly noble! Which is kind of my middle name, if I'm being humble. (If I'm bragging, it's my first name.) And I KNOW how to grow chins, ladies! I have done it many, many times over!

See, I've been fooling myself into thinking I'll rock this whole "weight and nutrition" song. It's like the girl with the Afro who is desperate for stick straight. My body has an Afro, friends. And no amount of flat-ironing...or 3 pound weights...will give me long, flaxen tresses. Well, actually, it could, but that would take effort...and goal setting...and a shunning of all things Easter and joy. So it's best to just embrace that fro and wear big old gold hoop earrings to compliment and accentuate the look.

And just like the hoop earrings, we've come full circle to the original idea of making the most out of our passions! So THANK YOU, OPRAH, for not only supporting, but helping me to embrace my natural man tendencies.

I'm planting my fat seedlings now. It looks like a back to back harvest this year.

Or chin to chin.