Here Comes The (Fat) Bride

Lately I've been obsessed with losing weight for my wedding. I guess that's normal. But what's not normal is instead of watching what I eat and working out more consistently, I've been lying on the couch with Fred and chomping whole bags of microwave popcorn (the movie theater butter kind, no less). Am I reverse psychology-ing myself? Maybe I should concentrate on gaining weight for the wedding, and I'll become anorexic.

Seriously though, I just wrote up a small article for a fitness magazine about brides going to extremes to lose weight for their wedding. Something like 70 percent of all brides diet in an unhealthy manner in order to squeeze into those little white dresses on the big day. It's so trite— don't we have more important things to think about?— and it makes me feel like such a follower. Ew.

So I'm trying to keep myself in check, my buttered-popcorn habit under control, and remember that I was pretty happy with my body a month ago—why do I all of a sudden need for it to be skinnier? Fred isn't going to love me any more (to make sure, I asked him, while I was eating my third piece of Federo Rocherer chocolate. "Honey, if I walk down the aisle in a Hawaiian moo-moo, will you still marry me?" "Of course I will," he said, "but please don't do that.")

I won't really look all that better in pictures (what's five pounds, after all?), and in 20 years and three kids, I'll be looking back at said wedding pictures and covet my 28-year-old pre-children figure no matter what I weigh on the big day.

My dress fitting is in two weeks and between now and then, I'll just get back into my workout routine (4 days a week), try to eat a little better (no more late-night Taco Bell runs after the club), and try to worry about something more profound than my weight (like the rumor that microwave popcorn causes cancer. If so, I'm in deep shit.)