I've Got Sand In All the Wrong Places (27 page)

Because animal people never know when to quit.

By the way, we still don't have anything in common, even after all these years, but that doesn't seem to matter. Nor does the fact that our kids are grown and that some of us don't even ride anymore.

We still have all of our differences, and in some ways we've become even more different. I didn't even realize how different until tonight, when the subject turned to politics, in an election season.

And even though we disagreed on fundamental issues, all of us love each other too much to let that part us.

We had each other.

And we had hearty minestrone.

And sometimes, that is more than enough.

 

You Aren't What You Eat

Lisa

I'm here to tell you that life isn't fair.

John F. Kennedy said that first, but he wasn't talking about his weight.

I say this because I gained ten pounds in three months.

I don't know which number is worse, the ten or the three, but the fact that they occur together is the combination platter.

Or maybe I should stop with the food analogies.

Do you think it means anything that food is the first thing I think of?

Nah.

Or that I actually look forward to meals?

Yay, I get to eat!

Legit!

The ten pounds I gained were the same ten pounds it had taken me six months to lose, which I had accomplished by eating less and moving more. Not exactly an innovative approach, but the only one that's ever worked for me. I ate smaller portions, which took me time to get used to, and I increased my exercise level by biking twice a week instead of once. And making sure I used my treadmill desk in the On position.

Who knew.

I'm not completely surprised that I gained
some
weight because when the cold weather came on, I stopped biking, and when my deadline hit, I used the treadmill desk at a standstill, but still it seemed hard to explain.

I was only a little bad. I wasn't as bad as ten pounds' worth.

In other words, the punishment didn't fit the crime.

And by the way, before you flip over to that author photo and tell me that I don't need to lose weight, remember Photoshop.

I try to keep my author photo as fictional as my novels.

Also it's an ancient photo, which is intentional.

I'm frozen in time, somewhere around freshman year of high school.

(Please, I'm not the only author who does this. And the men are just as guilty as the women. You know who you are.)

But anyway, I just got back from my annual visit to the gynecologist, and she and I had our usual great talk, at least before she whips out the speculum.

When the speculum makes an appearance, we both shut up.

But before that, she always asks me how I'm feeling, then she works her way around to asking me if I've become sexually active since last year.

Uh, no.

The answer has been the same for six years now.

I always tell her that she was the last person who looked at my vagina.

In fact, my Pap smear counts as a date.

We both laugh.

But I'm not kidding.

Actually, I think it's been six years, but it could've been longer.

I forget the exact number.

It seems like a technicality.

In my last novel, I wrote a sex scene from memory.

It worked, for me.

But to stay on point, the gynecologist always tells me, as she did today, that if I become sexually active, intercourse may be painful.

I tell her that it's painful
not
having intercourse.

She laughs again.

Then I thank her for saying all the things she always says, and you have to be living under a rock or maybe never turning on a television to not know that intercourse at my age could be painful and that there are three hundred things they can prescribe for this condition, but none of them includes sleeping with Bradley Cooper.

Get with it, gynecology.

Anyway, so I started whining to her about the fact that I gained ten pounds, and she said that was to be expected because women over fifty burn one hundred fewer calories a day, no matter what they do.

Wait, what?

I didn't know that.

In other words, even if you eat the same amount and keep the same activity level, you won't lose the hundred calories a day that you used to.

That you deserve to lose.

That you sacrificed to lose.

And that, my friends, is UNFAIR.

I had read that your metabolism slows down as you get older, but I had never heard it quantified before.

I instantly thought of all the things that are a hundred calories, namely those little cookie snack packs that I'd finally cut out, which come premeasured for a hundred calories. Through sheer willpower, I'd stopped eating them, but it wasn't helping.

My metabolism was eating them for me.

I hate you, metabolism.

And then my gynecologist added the kicker, that after menopause, your body shape changes and your weight redistributes, so that the fat collects in your belly.

Nooooo!

That was news to me, too.

Because I'm getting a beer belly though I don't even drink beer.

I first noticed this on book tour, when I had to put on real clothes with actual waistbands, zippers, and buttons.

The frenemies of every middle-aged woman.

I had thought my newly chubby tummy was just part of my overall weight gain, but now I see that it's taken up permanent residence.

I hate you, menopause.

Well.

So I came home, texted all of my girlfriends on a group text, and whined to them about what I had learned from the gynecologist. And my girlfriends all texted me back, commiserating about metabolism, menopause, and speculums in general.

(Sorry. Specula.)

And we ended up kidding each other about our newly chubby bellies, and ultimately deciding by text that we would all save on heating bills until we dropped dead.

Then I set the phone aside, because it was time for lunch.

I started to make myself my usual salad, with honeycrisp apples, cheddar cheese, and walnuts.

And the more I chopped, the better I felt.

Truly, I wouldn't mind losing the ten pounds again.

But I'm not going to beat myself up about it, like I used to when I had a metabolism that actually did its job.

I may have my belly, but I also have the best girlfriends in the world, and we have shared so much over time.

They're my buffer against the unfairness of life.

They're what reminds me of what really matters.

Love.

I started this little book talking about changing the way I think about having sand in all the wrong places.

Remember, I flipped it.

It's really just the pixie dust of summer.

But I had forgotten my own lesson.

I needed to stop worrying about my belly.

And focus on my heart.

Amen.

 

Acknowledgments

Lisa and Francesca

This is where we get to say thank you, because thank-yous matter! We would like to express our love and gratitude to St. Martin's Press for supporting this book and its predecessors. First thanks to Coach Jen Enderlin, our terrific editor, as well as to the brilliant John Sargent, Sally Richardson, Jeff Dodes, Paul Hochman, Jeff Capshew, Stephanie Davis, Brian Heller, Brant Janeway, Lisa Senz, John Karle, Tracey Guest, Dori Weintraub, Michael Storrings, Anne-Marie Tallberg, Nancy Trypuc, Kerry Nordling, Elizabeth Wildman, Talia Sherer, Kim Ludlum, and the entire sales force. We got these books on the
New York Times
Best Sellers list, and we thank you for everything you do to support us!

We'd also like to thank Mary Beth Roche, Laura Wilson, Samantha Edelson, and St. Martin's audiobook division for giving us the opportunity to record our own audiobooks. We love to do it, and we love audiobooks!

Huge thanks and love to our amazing agents. Lisa would like to thank Robert Gottlieb of the Trident Media Group and his incredible team: Nicole Robson, Emily Ross, Alicia Granstein, Brianna Weber, Claire Roberts, and Sabine Jansen.

Francesca would like to thank Andrea Cirillo, Amy Tannenbaum, and Rebecca Scherer of Jane Rotrosen Agency. I'm thrilled to have found such a brain trust of wit and wisdom in these three incredible women—you have already exceeded my hopes for what a thoughtful, caring literary agent can be, and we're just getting started.

Thanks to
The Philadelphia Inquirer
, which publishes our “Chick Wit” column, and to our editor, the wonderful Sandy Clark.

One of the best people in the world is Laura Leonard, and her advice, friendship, and love sustain us. Laura, thank you so much for all of your great comments on and suggestions to this manuscript. We owe you, forever.

Love to our girlfriends, who let us tell stories about them! Lisa would like to thank Nan Daley, Paula Menghetti, Sandy Steingard, Rachel Kull, and Franca Palumbo. Francesca would like to thank Rebecca Harrington, Katy Andersen, Courtney Yip, Janie Stolar, Megan Amram, and right-hand man, Ryder Kessler—I endeavor to bring half the humor, insight, and wicked fun to these stories that you bring to my life. We're blessed in all of you.

Family is the heart of this book, because family is the heart of everything. Special thanks and love to Brother Frank, as well as the late Mother Mary and Big Frank Scottoline, though they are with us always.

Finally, thank you to our readers.

You're family, too.

 

Other Nonfiction by
Lisa Scottoline
and
Francesca Serritella

Does This Beach Make Me Look Fat?

Have a Nice Guilt Trip

Meet Me at Emotional Baggage Claim

Best Friends, Occasional Enemies

My Nest Isn't Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space

Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog

Fiction by Lisa Scottoline

Most Wanted

Every Fifteen Minutes

Keep Quiet

Don't Go

Come Home

Save Me

Look Again

Daddy's Girl

Dirty Blonde

Devil's Corner

Running from the Law

Final Appeal

Rosato & DiNunzio Series

Corrupted

Betrayed

Accused

Rosato & Associates Series

Think Twice

Lady Killer

Killer Smile

Dead Ringer

Courting Trouble

The Vendetta Defense

Moment of Truth

Mistaken Identity

Rough Justice

Legal Tender

Everywhere That Mary Went

 

About the Authors

Lisa Scottoline
is a
New York Times
bestselling and Edgar award–winning author of twenty-seven novels and coauthor of six humor memoirs in this series. She also writes a Sunday column for
The Philadelphia Inquirer.
She has 30 million copies of her books in print, and she has been published in thirty countries. She lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with an array of disobedient pets. You can visit Lisa at
scottoline.com
or sign up for email updates
here
.