I Am Not An Animal

With 42 years of living under my belt, I have come to accept that the universe will occasionally send me signs to teach me a certain lesson.  The universe is an asshole.

Last week Son No. 2 came home with school project.  He had to come up with ways animals get ready for winter vs. how humans get ready for winter.









Animals store food, hibernate and eat more to add fat to their body while humans bring our toys in from outside, go to the store to buy warm clothes and cover other people’s pools.

Friday I went to a fundraiser for my friend Heather.  Her son, Zack, passed away on March 10, 2011 and now she works tirelessly to raise money for the charity she created – Zack’s Dream Room.  It was a Mom’s Night Out with pole dancing and pampering.

Trust me, this is going somewhere (see universe is an asshole, above).

We were all warming up for thy dancing of the pole when the instructor wanted us to find our sensual side and get our sexy on. She had us making slow, figure eight movements with our hips in a semi-squatting position while rubbing our hands up and down our body — facing a mirror, no less — when I noticed two things.

1) My “sexy” look is more “constipated” than sexy.
2) My thighs are as hard as rock.

Seriously hard.  Like, all the way up – from knee to hip.

I hadn’t really noticed it before because they’re also covered in a layer of fat. Apparently, for the past year or so, I have been in hibernation mode eating more to add fat to my body.

Oh universe, you sly minx.

I sat down and figured out that between skating, spinning, running and weights, I’m working out about 7 to 8 hours a week.

And yet I’m covered in a layer of fat.

I’m no mathematical genius but clearly, there’s something wrong in this equation.  I spoke to my friend Lisa who, being a true friend, rewrote the equation for me.

Mindless Eating + Wine = Thighs Wrapped Up Like Pigs In A Blanket

For the most part, I eat really well.  I’m the person who gets in their allotted fruits and veggies every day, eats whole grains and keeps processed foods to a minimum.  I also work from home where cookies, Halloween treats and any number of things are within an arms reach.  Clearly I’ve been taking advantage of this.  I won’t even get started on the empty calories known as wine.  Dear gawd, the wine.

While I’m physically fit, part of the equation needs to be not only what my body puts out, but what I put in.  For the past year I have been feeding my body like I’m storing up for hibernation, but, to quote Elephant Man:  I am not an animal! I am a human being!

Somewhere beneath this layer of fat are brand new muscles waiting to reveal themselves.  I guess it’s time to start acting like a human instead of storing food like an animal.

Anyone need a pool covered?


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About Sharon

Sharon DeVellis is a mother, wife and writer who can uncork a wine bottle in less than 10 seconds but buys twist-offs for emergencies. She’s currently in therapy to stop talking about herself in third person.
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15 Responses to I Am Not An Animal

  1. Sharon says:

    When I was typing it, I was saying it out loud in a yelling voice with my arm covering my face. I’m talented that way.

    Not listening
    My wine is like Coke Zero. Honest it is

    • Sharon says:

      It is. Until one day someone takes a picture of you speed skating and you realize, like a messed up version of The Grinch, your ass has grown three sizes this year.

  3. alimartell says:

    You quoted Elephant Man.
    You = hero

  4. Smilenwaven (Dianne) says:

    Too funny… and don’t give us that crap – you’re a ‘sexy thing’!

  5. mmmmmm I’ve got the same problems since I’m home all day, last night it was Doritos, glorious Doritos!!!!!

  6. WAIT! I thought Wine+ Mindless Eating = Happy Mommy. You mean instead it’s to blame for my mommy tummy?

  7. OMG Sharon you are such a riot! I love to read anything you write! You make all us mom’s out there proud!!

  8. Wine has calories? BITE YOUR TONGUE. *sobs*

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