A few times a week, I workout with my trainer, Brandi. Maybe coming off the holiday weekend made my workout seem harder than normal or maybe my blonde haired, gun-toting former Navy rescue swimmer exercise enforcer had it in for me today. Who knows. By the time we finished, I was sweating like a hog and panting like a poor old dog in heat. My goodness, that paints an ugly picture but it’s pretty accurate. I wasn’t the least bit pretty when I left from Brandi’s mini version of a Marine’s hell week. Except for my fake rap star sized diamond studs, extra sparkly accentuated by the sweat dripping from my forehead.

On the way home, I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few items. If I buy groceries after a workout, I’m less likely to buy items I am trying to avoid. I know how hard I just had to work to burn calories during my hour-long session with Brandi so it makes the calories written on the sides and backs of every item all that more real. I plan my meals for the week prior to shopping and I always have a list in hand when I enter the store. I don’t deviate from the list either, not usually.

Finished with my shopping, I pulled up to the checkout and began placing my hearts of romaine, boneless skinless chicken breasts, smoked turkey lunch meat and a boatload of fresh vegetables on the conveyor. As I was doing so, I spotted a tanned blonde ahead of me chit chatting with the cashier while he scanned more than just her groceries. I couldn’t help but see her. She was wearing neon pink running shoes, fluorescent orange bootie shorts and a fuchsia tank which read “It’s easier when you’re Barbie”, her cleavage billowing out the top. Something else was probably easier, too, I thought. She really did look like a living version of a Barbie doll. Big chest, little waist, and long flowing golden locks.

As I looked her up and down with jealousy and disgust, I thought maybe one day some rapidly approaching middle-aged women in sweaty workout clothes would be jealously staring at my perfectly toned legs and butt you could crack eggs on. Shoot, I could dream couldn’t I. Maybe one day, in the not so distance future, I would be like this Barbie that stood before me with shapely legs, flat abdominals and buns of steel. But, I would not be wearing that ridiculous Barbie t-shirt.

I instantly didn’t like this woman. In my mind, she laid by the pool all day working on her tan eating milk duds, drinking cherry limeades, waiting for Ken to pull up to their Barbie Dream House. She certainly didn’t have to workout, watch what she ate or try as hard as I did. I was jealous life was easy for this breathing Barbie doll.

As I walked out of the store, I saw her transfer her plastic bags filled with grilled chicken, turkey lunch meat and assorted vegetables to her backpack not Bonbons, potato chips and Koolaid like I assumed. Then, she hopped on her bike and pedaled off. I loaded the back of my SUV and headed home. I caught up to her about 5 miles from the grocery store peddling her long sun kist legs plumb off.

Where was Ken with that Barbie dream car when you needed him?

Ezekiel 16:42 So will I make my fury toward thee to rest, and my jealousy shall depart from thee, and I will be quiet, and will be no more angry.