Alice Williams Facebook ad: “My Ex Looked At My Stomach First”

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At 61, I ran into my ex-husband at Costco. He was with her. The woman he left me for. She's 39. I was bent over a pallet of paper towels when I heard my name behind me. "Linda?" I hadn't seen Rick in four years. The last time was the morning he loaded his golf clubs and his recliner into his brother's truck, after 29 years of marriage. I turned around, and his eyes went straight to my stomach. They always went there first. For the last five years we were married, that's where his eyes landed every time I walked into a room. Then they came back up to my face, and he looked confused. Like a man who'd walked into the wrong house. "Linda," he said. "You look incredible." Four years ago, nobody would have said that to me. I was thin everywhere except one place. Skinny arms. Skinny legs. And a hard, round stomach that sat on top of every waistband I owned, like I was hiding a mixing bowl under my shirt. At cookouts, Rick used to rest his beer can on it. "Built-in cup holder," he'd say, and his buddies would laugh, and I'd laugh too. Then I'd go stand in the bathroom for a while. I stopped tucking in my shirts. I wore Spanx to church, in July. And every night, without fail, I was wide awake at 3am with my heart going like I'd done something wrong. The night Rick moved out, I sat on the edge of the bathtub and lined up everything I'd tried on the counter. Cortisol drops I paid $89 for. A menopause belly pill a woman on Facebook swore by. A big tub of magnesium from the local pharmacy, because somebody told me magnesium helps with stress. My stomach hadn't moved half an inch. Three months ago, an old boss called me. His company had an office in Rotterdam, in the Netherlands, and they needed somebody who knew payroll for two weeks. I was retired and bored out of my mind. So I went. By day three, something was bothering me. Every Dutch woman my age in that office was flat through the middle. Some of them were big, solid women. They were still flat through the middle. Tucked-in blouses. Belts. My desk was next to Marijke's. She's 63. She ate bread and cheese every single lunch. She rode a bicycle to work in the rain. As far as I could tell, she had never set foot in a gym. And she had a waist. Meanwhile, back in my hotel room, I had two pairs of Spanx, my $89 drops, and my pharmacy magnesium in a Ziploc bag. On my last night, after a glass of wine, I just asked her. "How do you women do it? I'm serious." Marijke looked at me for a second like she felt sorry for me. Then she asked me something nobody in America had ever asked me. "Do you wake up at 3 in the morning?" I almost dropped my fork. Here's what she told me, the way she told me. Every time something stresses you out, your body spends magnesium to calm itself back down. A fight. A bill. A bad night. Every one of them costs you a little. When you run low, the calming down never finishes. Your stress stays switched on, all day and all night. And when your body thinks it's living through an emergency, it holds onto fat in the spot it can reach the fastest. Deep in your stomach, packed around your organs. "That's why it's only your stomach," she said. "And that's why you're awake at 3." "But I take magnesium," I said. "What kind?" I had no idea. The next morning I brought the tub to the office. Marijke turned it over, read the back, and laughed, kindly. "Oxide. That's the cheapest one there is. Your body keeps about 4% of it. The rest you flush." Then she opened her desk drawer and tossed me a little light blue bag, like it was a pack of gum. "Bisglycinate," she said. "It's magnesium bonded to glycine, so your body actually takes it in. Up to 90%. The full 400 milligrams." She tapped the back of the bag. "And the mineral comes from right here." I laughed out loud in that office. I'd flown 4,000 miles to find out that the magnesium I needed came from Holland, and the bag was made back home in the States. "Two before bed," Marijke said. "You chew them. Tonight." That night, in my hotel, I slept until the alarm. No 3am. The first time in more years than I could count. That's how I knew it was getting in. I ordered three bags from the airport. By the end of the first week, the 3am wake-ups had stopped. By week three, my jeans buttoned with me standing up. At week six, my friend Carol grabbed my waist with both hands in the church parking lot. "Are you on that shot?" "No." "Then what the hell, Linda?" And last month, I tucked a blouse into my jeans and wore a belt. The first time in six years. So. Back to the paper towels. Rick's still standing there staring at me. Then she walks up. Brooke. She's gorgeous. I'm not going to pretend she isn't. Long blonde hair, tan, looks like a model in a pair of leggings. A cart full of protein bars and one of those giant cups. She looked at Rick. Then at me. Then back at Rick. "Who's this?" "This is Linda," he said. "My ex-wife." I watched her do the math. She knew exactly how old I was. I'm sure Rick told her everything about me. Then her eyes dropped to my stomach. Then down to her own. And she tugged the bottom of her long cardigan down over her waistband. I knew that move. I did that move for five years. "Can I ask you something?" she said. "What do you do for your stomach?" I smiled at her. I meant it. "Magnesium. The right kind." I pointed down the aisle toward the vitamins. "Skip that one. It's oxide. Your body keeps almost none of it." "Mine's a little light blue bag from a company called SPNutrition. You won't find it in here." "And I'll be honest with you. They're nothing to look at. Two gummies that taste like candy. The first week, you'll just sleep, and you'll stand in front of the mirror and think I lied to you." "But my friend over there has a sister who's a pharmacist. She won't keep a single American vitamin in her house. Except that one." Brooke pulled out her phone. "Can you spell that?" I did. She typed it in slowly with her thumb. Rick was still looking at the paper towels. As I pushed my cart away, I heard her say it. Low. Just not low enough. "You told me she let herself go." I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. If you're reading this with your shirt pulled down over your stomach right now, here's what I'd tell you over a glass of wine. Over 120,000 women take these now. They sold out 12 times last year, so don't wait until you need them for a wedding. Your first order of the three-bag bundle is up to 35% off. And you get up to 90 days to ask for your money back if your stomach doesn't move. I spent more than that on drops that did nothing. Tonight, go flip over whatever magnesium is in your cabinet. If it says oxide, now you know. Then go tuck your shirt in. https://spnutrition-us.com/pages/advertorial-magnesium P.S. Rick texted me two weeks later. "Coffee sometime?" I left him on read. I was at the mall buying belts.

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My Ex Looked At My Stomach First

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