Self-Centered and The City 2

Yes, I am guilty.

I am one of those women who flocked to go see Sex and the City with six of my girlfriends last night.  I could have done better things with my night.  Girls, just wait til the DVD comes out.  Really.

I met two of my friends, Lisa and Chantal in front of the theater.  A few of the girls went to dinner before, but I couldn't go.  Lisa is one of my best friends.  She told me two weeks ago that she's pregnant.  I felt special that I knew before everyone else.  Lisa walks up the sidewalk to me, smiles at me knowingly, and says, "Hey. What's new with you?"   I look down at my cream tank top which is stretching over my muffin top tummy and reply, "I've been eating South St. burgers almost every second day for the last while because I was so depressed with my job.  So now, I've gained some weight.  How are you?" That's the same as saying, nothing much how about you...right? "I told the girls the news - that I'm pregnant." Lisa confides in me. Oh. My news by comparison is, not only really random and strange, but now really really stupid.

I totally missed her hint when she greeted me.  I am a self-centered bitch.  Good thing we've been friends forever.  She gets me.  Maybe not this time, but oh well.

I was so self-conscious, that I introduced my physical flaw to her like it was an important guest at our Girls Night Out.  Yup, that's right. My announcement about my physical insecurities trumps your baby news, Lisa.  Oh God, she's not gonna call me on my birthday.  I hate when I don't at least get a phone call on  my birthday.

It's just that I carefully chose jeans and a long-sleeve cardigan to cover up my arms and legs on this warm summer-like evening.  Then, I had to find a tank top loose enough to hide my weight gain and too-tight waistband of my jeans.  I had to lie down on my bed to do them up, like it's 1984 and I'm wearing tight acid-wash jeans.  They're so tight, they cut into my belly.  I can't breathe and it itches at the waistband.  So, to make myself comfortable, through this 2 hour and 25 minute Sex and the City glorified episode, I pull the top of the jeans over my paunch, like an eighty year old, toothless man.

Not pretty. Not pretty at all.  Pass the popcorn and M&Ms please.