I've always had what I would call an "athletic" body. Mother Nature definitely didn't bless me with any Christina Hendricks-type goods:
Maybe it has something to do with being a gymnast the first 18 years of my life.
Well, I turned 30 this year and suddenly I'm kicking a few curves. I know, I know--I thought I was pregnant at first, too. Nope. Then it hit me. I'm going through a second puberty.
It's the only way to explain it. The addiction to YA, the fact that the CW11 ranks in my top 3 favorite TV channels (this could also have something to do with the fact that network channels are clogged with crap like Minute to Win It and America's Got Talent--how is that compelling TV?). Also, inexplicably, the fact I still more-than occasionally break out (btw Mother Nature, enough with that joke already. It's getting old. Very old.)
Yeah, I've got your number, MN. You think you're playing some funny little trick on me, like showing up with a gift box in those Tampax ads? You think a little dose of teen angst is going to take me down? You're talking to someone who grew up in the Grunge Era--when it was cool to dress like you were homeless/a heroin addict, and we idolized musicians that let us down. Hell, my generation invented angst.
The joke's on you, because I get to avoid all the sucky parts this time, like having my Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret moment or dealing with pubescent boys who don't know how to channel their hormones. This time, if I'm having a particularly angsty day, I can eat all the ice cream I want without worrying if I'm going to snap the uneven bars in half at practice the next day. Or better yet, I can have a glass of wine. And instead of hanging out at the mall with my meager babysitting earnings, I can spend my 30-year-old salary down in SoHo. (ha! this makes my life sound way more glamorous than it actually is) And guess what? Somewhere between 13 and 30, I learned how to dance without looking like a robot. And I don't have to do it at a club that's hosting an all-ages night.
So bring it.