No woman is happy with her body. No one. Not even the ones who say they are. They always think they can either take off a little from here and there or put on a little from here and there. But no one actually believes in their heart of hearts that they’re “perfect”. No, not even the Victoria’s Secret models.
And here’s where my problem lies. It’s because of those little V models that the rest of us are having angst. They’re putting those types on covers of magazines and we’re all buying those magazines and wishing we were different.
My story starts 25 years ago.
It was one day when I lost the 4th grade spelling bee and my teacher took me out for some ice-cream. When I came back home, my mother gave me some chocolate cake. And that evening my father supported me by getting me some gulab jamuns. All wonderful people. With a lot of “support”.
That support translated into me reaching for that brownie every time I failed at something in life. And failure is and always will be a part of life.
So here’s the thing..I’m fat. No, no let’s not beat about the bush. I truly am one of those overweight people who should not reach for that piece of chocolate after lunch. I should be executing all those valuable tips from Cosmo about weight loss and exercising. But that’s not me.
I hate exercising. I hate the gym.
I only go so I can look like one of those Victoria Secret’s supermodels. And I’ve lived in that hope for the last 25 years. Hope. The only thing that gets our fat asses out of bed and onto that ugh treadmill. Hope that the piece of chocolate we know is not good for us doesn’t give us cellulite. Hope that our binging last night won’t lead to a tire in a few months. Hope that when we step on that scale, it’ll magically read more to the left than right.
Hope, my friends is the most dangerous thing. But it’s the thing that sells the most.
So today I didn’t give my daughter that cake as a feel -better- soon `support’ because she didn’t win the colouring contest. I didn’t give it to her as a reward for her good behaviour either. I will probably give it to her because she is allowed to enjoy it once in a while along with her healthy food. I don’t elucidate about how thin Cinderella was even though the fairy tales only show women with long hair and thin waists. And I hope she realizes that life is not a fairy tale.
As for me, I was the captain of the Thundering Thigh Brigade in school. It never changed 25 years later. I’m waiting for Liposuction to go on sale. I’m waiting for gyms to be banned. I’m waiting for that piece of chocolate that converts fat to fit. I’m waiting for cellulite to be fashionable. I wait in Hope.
And till then, I’ll still hate my body. But I won’t care too much about it on a day to day basis.