The Difference Between Brazilians and Me

So last night and this morning, I had a house full of Brazilian women. Yesterday was my au pair's birthday, for which I was unable to cobble together any reasonable sort of celebration. I was under the influence of a combination of Valium, oxycodone, ibuprofen and a host of other inhalants and pills - I looked and felt like a junkie. So they spent the night with her, the shrill chatter of Portuguese filling my woozy head as I drifted off to a drug-induced sleep.

Today they ate breakfast with us - I felt good enough to cook. I showered before breakfast and stepped on the scale to find that I was now a mere 2 pounds from my wedding weight. 13 years and two children ago. Not to bad, although I wouldn't recommend the near-death, don't eat anything diet as a first line of getting there.

I was teasing the au pair that I was now thin enough to wear her clothes - to which she and her friends promptly began dressing me in. And taking pictures. Which no one but the Dr. will ever see. It was very flattering to have a bunch of 20 somethings oohing and aahhing over the fact that I could be a 39 year old mother of two and wear these things. If you're not quite sure how they dress in Brazil (where is it very warm, most of the year), think Carnival. We once commented to one of our friends from Rio that at Carnival, everyone was naked. She casually replied "not EVERYONE." 'Nuff said.

But then my au pair went on to say to the girls "But for work, she never shows her beautiful body. She has nice clothes, but they are all serious. Never she shows how she looks."

I work in corporate America. I spend my day with partners and audit committees and CEOs and CFOs in board rooms, and supervising up and coming business men and women. I wear suits and sweaters and blouses. When I'm feeling sassy, I wear my knee-length black leather boots with my skirt and sweater. Not that I don't want to look pretty, but I didn't think the point was for the whole world to know every curve of my body, regardless of how it looks. This is not TV land where your suits are made of spandex and your sweaters as tight and low cut as can be. I don't think I'm overly conservative - its not like I don't unbutton a button or two. But apparently in Brazil, my dress would effectively be equivalent to a nun. A well-dressed corporate nun, that is.

Maybe in Vegas, I'll change that. Who knows if I can hang on to this body for another 10 years? Watch out.