My Morning Aerobics
by Elizabeth Fisher

Just the other night I was piled up in a king-size bed with four of my favorite friends. We were lying there giggling like teenage girls at a slumber party, talking about everything from clothes to romance, sharing a box of Godiva chocolates, and taking turns modeling sexy lingerie. I'm sure we were quite a picture, because between the five of us we check in somewhere around two thousand beautiful, bouncy, bubbly, bodacious pounds. There was one very lucky male there, but he fell into a contented sleep almost immediately. Daniel is one little boy who is most certain to grow up with fond childhood memories of very large women.

I have to admit to being a little worried about the bed, but I was having too much fun to give it much thought. Furniture is something I normally take great caution with. I've cracked a few toilet seats in my life, and more than one office chair has failed the task of supporting my rubenesque form.

Choosing furniture isn't the only thing I must be cautious with. I carefully choose almost every step of the day. Instead of jumping out of bed in the morning, I sit on the edge of the bed for a few moments just to give all my body parts a chance to start going in the same direction. Those first steps are quite an adjustment from being horizontal! Of course those few moments on the side of the bed are an excellent time to get a morning hug or to plan out my day.

Who needs morning aerobics? Getting to work is my morning workout. When I'm bathing, I can't reach all my body parts unaided, but a hand-held shower and an oversized washcloth help a lot. After I dry off thoroughly (sometimes with the aid of a blowdryer), I powder myself all over, choose what I'm going to wear, and begin the daily endeavor to don pantyhose or socks. Some of my friends can only put them on when they're seated, but standing up works best for me. And while I'm on the subject, I have a real gripe with every pair of 7x pantyhose I've ever encountered. They're too big in the ankles, entirely too small in the thighs, and no matter how often I pull them up, the waistband inevitably ends up below my tummy, the thigh-line somewhere around my knees, and, if I'm not careful, puddles of pantyhose around my chubby ankles. Can't someone build a better pair of 7x pantyhose?

The next undertaking is to put on my bra. I've given up on finding a front-hook bra in my size that fits properly, so I fasten my back-hook bra in the front, and work it around to the back. By this time I'm a little winded, so I sit down to eat breakfast, check my email, fix my hair, and put on makeup. Ten minutes before I leave I'm off to brush my teeth, check my hair, spray on perfume, slip into my clothes and shoes. I prefer dresses for work, but it's a challenge to find shoes that are dressy and supportive enough for my substantial frame. Wearing poor-quality or non-supportive shoes leads to painful problems with my feet, legs, and back, a lesson I've just recently learned. I like low-heeled (not flat), well-constructed leather shoes that hold my foot securely in place. They keep the wobble out of my wiggle!

Next I grab my lunch and head out to my car, another carefully chosen item. I alternate between a 1995 Eagle Vision and a 1984 Toyota Corolla, both selected because I fit in them. For some reason it's easier to get in either car than it is to work my way out. I really need a seatbelt extension for each car, although I haven't yet located one for the Toyota. Once I arrive at work, I open the door, put one foot on the ground outside, squeeze my tummy past the steering wheel, put the other foot on the ground, grab the door frame, and eject myself in one not-always-elegant movement.

Last week I was gathering my things and accidentally dropped a cassette tape, which immediately came out of its box. A bit of quick thinking and a hanger from the back seat helped me retrieve the loose pieces from under the car beside mine without having to ask for help. I carefully scooped them up off the ground and made my way to my office, finishing my morning aerobics by plopping down at my desk at exactly 8 a.m.

Dealing with size-related issues is all part of being a super-size person, something I've accepted as part of who I am, just like my curly hair, my musical abilities, or being left-handed. No, on second thought, I don't just accept it, I rejoice in it. It gives me a unique perspective on the world; it's part of what makes me different from most everyone else.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the bed held up just fine: I warn you not to go out and try this with just any bed though, especially not any antique beds, or you may find yourself (as I did one grand night) dumped onto the floor at 3 a.m., surrounded by a splintered bedframe.
C'est la vie.


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