We often must suffer to be beautiful and love can hurt, but fun is fun!

“Hey!” I proclaimed, as I picked myself from the ground. What the fudge bunnies was that all about?” I dusted myself off and straightened my clothing as well as I was able. Then I looked up and noticed the intensity of her scowl. Rut roh, Reorge.

“Don't you ever, ever say that to me again!” I thought the stamping of her foot in emphasis was just a bit melodramatic but I decided to keep my theatrical reviews to myself. “I can accept that you are distressed by your body image conflict. I can accept that all that is exaccerbated by your circumstances. What I cannot handle is that you are giving up and throwing yourself a pity party in advance.”

“Hmm.” I finally had things adjusted and tugged back into place about as well as I could hope. “Well, I think I can see how you would mischaracterize things in your head that way. Personally, I think of it as chosing my battles. I weigh close to 300 pounds and I do not look like I used to look. I cannot find a doctor to prescribe my hormones anymore. And every time I start getting my hair out to an attractive length, something happens that I end up needing to cut it. For all this, yes, I decided to accept fate and be ugly. If you want to label me as giving up, I do not have the time to argue with you.”

She picked at my clothes, further straightening here and there. “When is the last time you weighed?”

Thinking back, I had been working out regularly for 3 weeks, and before that, I had been working out for a few months, but not regularly or as strenuously. I had not been to the doctor in a while, so, “I would guess maybe four or five months ago, maybe more.”

As luck would have it, we were not far from the gym. She took me by the arm and towed me at a steady clip. She took me to one of the coaching office areas and lead me to an upright scale like what is still in most doctor's offices. Taking my various equipment, she made a small stack in a nearby chair, then waved me onto the scale. She flipped counterweights back and forth until it settled out at 266.

“Wow, that's 20 pounds less than what I last remember and that is with all my gear, too!” I was pretty excited.

“Gear!” she exclaimed, “I stacked all your gear in that chair. What do you mean, 'gear'?”

In response, I took off the vest I generally wore anytime I left home and handed it to her. She only gasped a bit and I tweaked the counterweights down 13 more pounds. Before she could chastise, I held up a finger and emptied out my pockets and cargo pockets from my pants. I pushed the counterweights down 6 more pounds. “I could probably get another pound or three if I took off my Nike Airs, but it would feel so good I would not be able to force them back on my feet and I need them for work.”

“So,” she paused a fraction of a heartbeat, “you are telling me that you have taken off 39 pounds in 4 or 5 months?”

“Umm,” I hedged, “I guess that is correct. I guess that is why all my clothes are so baggy, now.”

“Well... grrrrrrr... the words coming to mind are less than professional. Why did you not just buy new clothes?” She was only patting her foot this time, instead of stamping it.

“Why bother? I never replace ugly clothes until they are so worn I have no excuse to wear them a single day more.” I shrugged. “Buying clothes depresses me and I have been trying really hard to be calm and postive on the job.”

Her eye roll was world class. “Well, duh. Easy answer. Just buy pretty clothes.”

My eye roll was in semi-independently different directions. “Well duh, I have to pretend to be a man. That means I have to wear ugly clothes.”

She just shook her head and said, “We are really going to have to work on your outlook.”

I snorted in a fashion that was probably not very ladylike. “My opinion of men will never change. Familiarity breeds contempt and I am way too familiar with the lot of them. I used to be really militant about it, now I just do not give away energy that easily over things I know I will never be able to change.”

“Oh, you!” She helped me get my gear squared away and then helped me get all my equipment arranged so I could easily carry it, again. “I have to get back to the office. I want you to take the rest of the week off from work. Take your family camping or something. Get away from the grind. Ideally, you would be where there are no phones or anything.”

“Thanks, but that does not undo my commitment to my classes and my son would crack open like the tread off of a cheap tire if I kept him off of xBox Live too long.” I thought for a minute. “I'll take the week off from work if you like, and try to relax over the weekend, but I am not sure that I'll be able to, because I'll be worried about the mess that will be waiting for me when I get back.”

This time, her eye roll was epic. “Don't you even give me that! I am NOT hearing it. Ok, then, do this: work short hours until you get out of class on Friday, then I do not want you even looking at the work orders until after you get of class on Monday. And if you respect me, you will go do something fun and enjoyable this weekend and blow all of this off.”

I glared at her. “That's dirty pool.” My glare slipped into a stubborn pout.

What came next was just down right mean. She **laughed** at me. “That is the most adorable pout I hae seen in I do not know when!”

Knowing if she broke me now I'd be broken forever, I gave her another glare then stalked off with, “I have work to do.”

She let me go, trying not to giggle.

I did not see her for the next three days, which were a blur of work-outs, class, work, and homework. I still did not have a clue what I was going to do over the weekend. My family, as usual, was being less than cooperative about planning a family activity. I had finally decided that I was going to go to a state park in the next state over. The park was about a 4 hour drive but was in a nice set of low mountains. The scenery was beautiful and the location convenient and the cabin was quiet. Oh, I had better call and make sure I could get a cabin! I decided to wait until I got home and offer the family a chance to go or be left behind. That way, I would know what size accommodations to seek.

As I stumbled out of class, my skull full of mush on low simmer with both class concepts and also my weekend plans, Elise was down the hall speaking with an instructor. Oddly, it was the instructor that called me over, not Elise. He questioned me on some finer points of World War II firearms and some of the typical pieces of equipment that soldiers from both side carried as standard gear. I had been slowly building my collection, after lucking onto a Russian carbine that was still new in the box. When he found out about my collection, I thought he was going to melt into a puddle. Somehow, before the conversation was over, I was roped into doing non-credit class for next semester that though would be non-credit for students, would earn me credit to replace a presentations class I had put off taking. It would also look good on my resume. If the results were good (and I passed some test), I would be added as a graduate student instructor the following semester.

There were a list of pros and cons over the entire thing: more pay (pro), resume bonus(es) (pro), opportunities to teach other classes or subjects (pro, kind of), and just generally being higher on the food chain (pro), less hands-on and more managerial in my current department (both pro and con), more prep work (big big con), and I assumed the list would grow quite speedily in both columns.

At least this first semester would be about things I found really interesting. If nothing else, I would tweak some noses by just having firearms on campus legitimately. [Insert evil laugh here.] Of course, I would not be so foolish as to bring firearms in the same trip as I brought matching ammo. Some of these university students were not very... umm... how do I put this... well... they seemed to be inexperienced in applying what common sense they might possess.

Well, what a way to start my mandatory 'fun' weekend! I got in my car and drove to the mall for some light retail therapy, hoping to distract myself from trying to figure out how to distract myself. Just inside was a gathering of people in one of the courts and someone on a loudspeaker saying something about last chance to sign up. I went to a small stand set up with entry forms for a sweepstakes and read enough to realize it was a drawing for a spa weekend that would leave at 4 that afternoon and return at 4 on Sunday afternoon. It was billed as a Moms Getaway, but nowhere seemed to limit gender, so I signed up and dropped my entry. It was only a few minutes after 11, and the drawing was at 11:45. Killing a half hour in a mall would **not** be a problem! In fact, Books-A-Million and B. Dalton both had locations just a few doors from where I was standing. Suddenly, 37 minutes seemed too short! I wandered into the Books-A-Million and got a mocha at J. Muggs to sip while I shopped. I had looked through the selections by authors A-K when the alarm I had set to remind me to be present for the drawing (required) went off on my cell phone.

I sipped down the last of my mocha and slipped the cup into a trash can as I stood in the back of the court and waited the last few minutes for the drawing. By then, the barker on the loudspeaker was in full rant. As the court filled, I was glad I was in a good spot where I was out of the way but could still see easily and hear clearly. I was not sure why I was even waiting, as I figured the odds against me winning were astronomical, but the thought of being petted and pampered for an entire weekend was too delicious an idea to not fantasize over it at least for a few minutes.

A woman straining to see over the various heads between us and the low stage where the barker was standing accidentally bumped into me as she wobbled too and fro on her tip toes. Being only a half inch short of 6 feet, and her more like a half inch over 5 feet, I suppose what was an easy view for me was a bit more challenging for her.

She blushed and apologized for bumping me then realized I was waiting on the drawing, too. She asked, “Did you sign up for your wife or your girlfriend or yourself? Oh! Oh! I am so rude and nosy, just ignore me. I get curious and my mouth runs away with me.” She was blushing again. “I hope we both win, though! If I read the rules correctly, there will be 4 winners for one person and a grand prize for a woman and her closest 4 friends. Of course, everyone will be bothered to death with discounts for memberships and services and such, no matter if they win anything or not. I am thinking a lot of people will 'win' what sounds like fabulous discounts, but 40% off of way too much is still way too much!” She tittered nervously. “By the way, I am Rhonda, maybe we will both win and we can stick together for the weekend. I think I am more nervous about winning and having to go alone than not winning at all!”

I had just nodded and smiled throughout the entire monologue. “I am flattered that you could find me such a comforting presence in such a short amount of time. However, if we both win, which would be outrageously against the odds, and if you feel safer with me, I would be fine with that. I just really doubt that we would both win.”

“Actually, because of the short notice nature of the contest, there have not been so many entrants.” Somehow, she managed to blush again. “Oh, I was near the people who were holding the contest and overheard them say they were disappointed about the low number of entries. They were testing to see if this was a good way to advertise. They think it is either this area or that this mall is too small or too out of the way because it has worked in other locations they have tried.”

I began to worry that should suffer brain damage if she blushed much harder or much more often. “Oh, I had no idea. I figured that every woman in the mall would be clamoring for this deal and calling all her friends in hopes of hitting the jackpot and having a moms' weekend for five in hopes of improving their odds.”

“There was probably some of that,” Rhonda said, “but not nearly so much as in some better locations. Evidently too many women here do not have the financial or scheduling freedom, or both, for short notice weekend vacations. My ex has the kids this weekend and I had so much vacation saved up, my boss said I could have today off to come and register after one of my friends called me. If I win, I do not have to be back at work until Monday. If I don't, he is just going to treat it like a long lunch and I will work the rest of the afternoon.”

The barker had finally shut up and as a very pretty woman in a business suit, heels, and elaborate makeup flowed from a chair at the back of the stage towards the microphone, a hush had conquered the entire court. Her honeyed voice alerted every ear and she quickly commanded every eye. “Let me announce that we did not have nearly so many entries as we had hoped so what we had hoped to be at least an annual visit to this location probably will not happen again. At first, we had thought of curtailing the number of winners, but we have decided to go ahead and honor our original plans. Also, everyone who has an entry stub is eligible for a 40% discount if you call the number of the back of the stub and speak with one of our agents and give them the stub number.” I mentally gave Rhonda a bow for her prescience at the discount program. “Now, we we will announce the 4 single winners: entries 40144, 40155, 40128, and 40111, please step up to the stage and speak with Taleejah.” She indicated a stunning black woman at one end of the stage who was holding a clipboard. “As soon as our four lucky ladies present themselves, we will announce the winner of our fabulous grand prize!”

I halfheartedly glanced down at my stub and noticed I was number 40155. I was about to throw it away when I realized I was number 40155. Just before I nudged Rhonda to ask if she remembered the numbers, the barker placed a sign up on an easel stand that listed them. I had won!

Rhonda also noticed the easel stand just as **she** was about to nudge me and fainted dead away, blushing roughly the same shade as a typical stop sign. On a hunch, I checked the form she so tightly clenched in her hands to see it was 40128. I carefully picked her up, making sure I put her purse in her lap, and carried her down towards the stage.

As I made my way down, the crowd parted before me, though the curiosity on the faces, mostly womens faces, was almost comical. When I reached the stage, I managed to stand Rhonda on her feet without ruffling her too much. I handed Taleejah my stub then tried to give her Rhonda's but it was clenched so tightly in her fists, I was forced, instead, to pat her on the face. “Rhonda, Rhonda dear, please give the nice lady your stub so that you can claim your prize.” I paused for a moment and tested her grip. “Rhonda, dollin, turn loose of the paper so that she write down your stub number.” This time the paper came loose and I gave it to Taleejah.

Rhonda suddenly sputtered and gasped deeply and then her eyes popped open almost audibly. She looked around and then gently disengaged herself from me where I had been supporting her. As I released her, she almost fell, but she grabbed my arm and steadied herself.

“Did I really win?” The rapid blinking of her eyes was as dramatic as when they popped open and also almost audible.

Taleejah matched our stubs with the entry blanks and said, “As soon as I seen some picture ID from your ladies, err, nice people, then yes, you have both won.

The other two winners had arrived by then and we all four were digging for ID as Serena, as turned out to be the beautiful announcer's name, waited through a canned orchestra flourish, followed by a low drum roll. “Ladies and gentlemen, our grand prize winning number is...” The drum roll got louder. “Number 40192!”

Five women off to one side suddenly went hysterical laughing and crying and hugging and jumping up and down. One particularly large busted woman who was wearing a low-cut scoop neck was in danger of overpowering her support undergarments but her friends came to her aid and they all calmed themselves as they came down together. As it turned out, it was the busty woman who had actually won, the other four were the friends she was designating to accompany her for the weekend.

After the nine of us had shown picture ID and verified that we were free for the weekend, we were asked what was the earliest we could meet back here to be taken to the airport. That was when I found out that the spa was in the U.S. Virgin Islands. I think Elise was going to be happier than I had anticipated!