Disclaimer: I am totally NOT serious. I’m not entirely sure Samantha Brick was either. I’m really hoping she wasn’t.
The other day I was at Dunkin Donuts. After selecting my dozen, the donut man smiled and told me to select one more. “A baker’s dozen” he said with a wink. I was pleased but not shocked. For years my curves have garnered me all kinds of attention. Just the other day I had no more than stepped foot into Ben & Jerry’s when someone handed me a scoop of ice cream… for free! It seems everyone loves me plump, and wants me to stay that way! Take, for example, when I go out on the town – everyone wants to dance with me. Guys constantly come up behind and say that they like the way I “shake that healthy thing”. It happens all the time.
I’m certainly not obese, but I’m of average height and greater than average weight. It’s not my fault that God chose fit to distribute it equally above and below my waist. I’ve got a nice rack. And a juicy booty. You might think I’ve got it made. That my life is perfect and music video producers are knocking down my door for Sir Mix-A-Lot’s latest video. Well, having a large backside isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. People are jealous. And it hurts.
Going out on the town is not always fun. A few Fridays ago I was cornered in the ladies room at a local bar. A tall, slim woman pointed a bony finger at my ample cleavage. “My boyfriend says he thinks you have the cutest dimples.” she angrily told me. “And I don’t think he was talking about the ones on your face!” she spat as she lowered her gaze to my meaty thighs. I was mortified and ran out of the bar crying.
The other day I was walking into the Gap when I overheard these two girls (wearing super skinny jeans) talking. One of them said to the other one, “Oh my God! Becky, look at her butt!” I had to leave the store. I was so embarrassed. Sadly though, the jealousy isn’t confined to strangers. My own friends constantly try to get me to join Weight Watchers or run races with them. I know it’s only because they think if I lose my curves I’ll be less attractive to their husbands. How do I know I’m attractive to their husbands? Because they always come up behind me and smack my butt. “Make it clap!” they demand, but I politely decline out of respect for their wives. I can feel their eyes glaring at me.
But no more is the jealousy more apparent than when I’m out to dinner with my husband, a very handsome man by the way. I’m not afraid to order cheese sticks as an appetizer before my burger with bacon and french fries arrives at the table. I see the other women staring at me as they miserably stab forkfuls of salad. I can tell they wish they were me. “I’m large and in charge!” I want to shout as the waiter brings me my brownie sundae. My curves are here to stay!
Although, I admit lately I’ve been thinking of joining my friends at Weight Watchers. I’m getting tired of being hated for being voluptuous. For once I’d like to hear the term “motorboat” and know that the men are talking about actual watercraft. And I’d love to have women accept me for who I am and be able to just be “one of the girls” instead of having to rely on THE girls for company on lonely nights. Don’t even get me started on the pain that is a mammogram.
But until the day comes when I can fade into the background of their boring, skinny lives, I will be proud of myself and my curves. Girl, look at this body! I, I, I, I DON’T workout! Suck it!