Annie Gray’s Diary

New Year’s Resolutions?

Kale, No!

By Annie Gray Sprunt

Anyone who has known me might have noticed that my girth fluctuates from time to time. I have clothes in my closet from size 4 to 16. The 16s feel so good, I might even try some 18s!

The problem is that when I undergo a Slenderella transformation, it’s usually attributed to some unfortunate life event, death, divorce or situational depression. Nothing like a little “trauma trim” to help drop off the extra heft. Right now, I’m clearly happy as a clam, or should I say happy as a heavy cream clam chowder sprinkled with bacon served in a buttered bread bowl.

During this Rubenesque era, I’ve decided to take great pride in my voluptuousness, and embrace myself, curves and all. I represent the good fat, like the luscious avocado. There are no Cheetos in my cellulite, no Bagel Bites in my double chins. I represent the finest food trucks and restaurants from Paris to Pinehurst, like a billboard of appreciation. I’m waiting for the National Restaurant Association to bestow a lifetime achievement award to me anytime now. And I love the fact that so many people are gluten-free; that means more gluten for me.

Years ago, I was dressing for a party and was despondent because nothing fit; I felt frumpy and thought about cancelling. But my husband, with the nicest of intentions, said, “Annie Gray, every girl wants to be the prettiest, thinnest belle of the ball, so if you just show up, everybody else will feel good about themselves.”

Luckily, there wasn’t a gun nearby, but he did have a point. By just showing up, I could provide a good deed of public service for all those lovely girls starving themselves to death.

I used to pour myself into the most excruciatingly binding foundation garments, only to feel like Jabba the Hutt. Inevitably, I would fall into a little Kickapoo Joy Juice and rip that foundation garment off and stuff it in the powder room trash can. Just so you know, Spanx aren’t cheap!

I can’t tell you how many times people have remarked on my girth. One lady friend of mine, who shall remain nameless (unless you ask me in person), every single time I see her, exclaims in delight that I have lost weight when clearly I haven’t. She seems so thrilled at my perceived success that I feel kind of guilty for disappointing her.

But I’m in good company. My two spirit animals are the fictional Bridget Jones and the very real Oprah. We are kindred spirits in the pursuit of finding our hipbones. I might not have curb appeal, but I certainly have curve appeal.

I recently read that J.K. Rowling ran into an old friend at the British Book Awards, and the person immediately remarked on her weight loss. Since last they had last seen each other, J.K. had written six (rather successful) novels and birthed three children (success yet to be determined). J.K.’s literary skills should garner more accolades than drinking kale and apple cider vinegar shakes.

In American Samoa, a full-figured woman represents the pinnacle of status because it is proof that she is being well taken care of, i.e.,well fed. Well, let me embrace whatever American Samoan roots I might have. I’ll take being a status symbol any way I can!

I appreciate the phrase “Never trust a skinny chef.” I do have it from an inside source (Giada De Laurentiis) that celebrity chefs do not eat their own creations. When demonstrating their culinary skills on TV, there is a hidden spit bucket, so they don’t have to swallow what they are fake-tasting. (Kinda like Bill Clinton admitting to smoking dope but never inhaling – what’s the point?)

And yes, of course, I would love to be able to sashay around in a bikini, but in the meantime and until the next trauma, I’m going to appreciate me for my God-given, Almond Joy-enhanced self.

And for the record, voluptuous people are better to hug and harder to kidnap!

Annie Gray Sprunt has a good personality and makes her own clothes.

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