Personalized Coffee Mugs

32 pounds lost.

There are so many things at my home that I had when I was larger sized that I don't mind still keeping them around.

My big jeans
I like putting them on and seeing how far I've come.  

The dip in my couch cushion
I know my weight won't cause this phenomena anymore!  
Pictures of myself that show before/after results of my weight loss
"Hey there,USPS Man come in and let me show you my Before/After pictures!"

There is one personal item I have, however, that makes me cringe.  My stepdaughter's gift to me a couple years ago - a personalized coffee mug of pictures of me and her son (my grandson). That gift was so sweet and thoughtful of her.

Those pictures however are at my all time worst (weight wise)
 I could have won a scholarship and prizes had I entered the Mrs. Double Chin pageant.  I could have taken my loving family on a shopping spree to Krispy Kreme and Heavenly Ham.

The problem with having a gifted coffee mug with hideous pictures of yourself (as you may have guessed) is you can't do anything with it.  You have to keep it in circulation with all your other coffee mugs.  What makes it even worse is my grandson's picture is on there as well.  So what can I do?  Stop drinking coffee?  Family visits are so bad.  My visiting family member invariably pulls that one mug out to use and the conversation then is how funny those pictures are of me.  Okay, maybe that not true - no one mentions it.  My family is not an evil and uncouth tribe.  But I am paranoid enough to play out their thoughts of the mug in my own head.  Something like, "damn my sister in law really let herself go" or "my niece is too pretty to have gained that much weight, what did my sister do to her when she was growing up?".

I have actually sat at my kitchen table in the mornings and daydreamed of "accidentally" letting the coffee cup sit too near the edge of the table.  Then I, "accidentally", bump my leg against the table and....WOOPSIE... the coffee cup falls and breaks into a million tiny pieces!

 I drew this picture.  It is not a photo taken of me when I am having my daydream.  Again, I repeat, this is not a real picture.

All the broken pieces are so tiny there is absolutely no way my loving and caring husband could EVER put it back together with super glue.  It has to be thrown away; there is no way around it.

I am then snapped out of my daydream by Mr. Guilt Dragon.  His hot, flamey breath envelops me with a guilt so strong it singes my insides and makes my heart throb and scream at me..."How could you even think of doing such a thing, you ungrateful brat woman?!"

Mr. Guilt Dragon is what I call my conscience.  He in no way establishes my mental health.  Had my conscience been portrayed by a Gay Unicorn by the name of Mortimer then I wouldn't have been able to deny my craziness.

There is a point I am trying to make with this story.  As I write this out I am drinking out of the coffee cup of truth and blessings knowing that I will learn to proudly declare it a badge of honor (like my stretch marks) and hope that I will never be at that weight again.


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