Last night I had a conversation about stretch marks with my younger brother. My brother! How strange is that? Well, I don’t have a sister, so it’s nice that I have a sibling I can gab about weight issues with. He was talking about how he used to have stretch marks under his arm, where the dreaded arm flab lives. Who knew guys had these problems too?
I told him about the year in college when I had a stretch mark on the inside of my elbow that would not go away. Whenever I was sitting in a classroom taking notes or just with my arms on my desk, I would see this horrid little red mark on the inside of my arm. It bothered me way more than any of the stretch marks on my belly, which made me look like a red zebra or a candy cane, because people could actually see this one. It was like someone had tattooed “PastaQueen is gaining weight!” right on my arm. It took months and months before it started to fade.
My brother and I also bitched about loose skin, especially in the belly. I believe the official medical term is “pannus.” It’s nice that there is someone else in my family who has lost a lot of weight (60 pounds) that I can chat about food and exercise and skin with. Well, without their eyes glazing over.
I’m also grateful that my family has never given me shit about my weight. I know I’m pretty lucky in this way. I have one friend who is totally hot, but her mother constantly nags at her about what she’s eating, saying she’ll gain weight. It probably helps that I come from a family of fat people, so it would be more difficult for anyone to get up on a high horse, both figuratively and literally.