I'm a size two. When my man found me I was a size 12. What happened?
Voluptous Crystal enjoyed powdered doughnuts by the bagful. I don't mean the little bags you find with 5 mini-donuts at the convenience store. I'm talkin about the loaf size bag o pastries one finds at the day old bread store. I'd also devour an entire pan of brownies with gusto. Olive Garden all-you-can-eat pasta? Yeah baby! Bring. It. On. Voluptous Crystal had an extremely high self image. Lucky for her no matter how large she became, her chest and hips were always larger than her waist.
Enter Mr. Pistol. One look at those gigantic, corn fed breasts and he was hooked. I don't believe our eyes met once during our first encounter. I didn't mind. I was used to it. He'd be a fool NOT to notice my jelly rolls. We dated and he was delighted to discover I took butter on my popcorn and ate hogies by the foot. At one juncture he dared eat food off my plate. Our first fight.
Four pregnancies and 12 years later I find myself chugging protein shakes and diet coke by the gallon, watching my family eat cookies while I chew ice and engaging in daily cardio as if my designer jeans depended on it. I ran into some old family friends the other day that didn't even recognize me. I felt ridiculous. I'd embraced one of them dramatically and with feeling. "You look familiar....," she said. Awkward...
I have spent a great deal of time in the past two days listening to one of my best friends belly ache about her weight. "I hate my body! I want to lose weight and I can't!! I'm a failure!" Like a good best friend, I object. "No! Don't say that! You are gorgeous! Your man loves you the way you are!" She responds with, "If you were REALLY my friend you would tell me the truth. You would tell me I'M FAT and have lots of have weight to lose!!!" A conundrum.
From the outside looking in I see this friend for who she is. She's extremely talented, fun, beautiful, caring and intelligent. Her body is not a size 0 but no one who knows her can deny she is gorgeous. "Don't lose a pound," I tell her. Then I look at my own reflection. From the inside looking out I see an elephant in stilettos. How can I so rationally see the beauty in my friend and simultaneously hear the thunder of my own thighs. BOOM. BOOM BOOM.
Its my mom's fault, of course. Doesn't everything neurotic and obsessive always go back to mom? Frued knew when he asked, "tell me about your mother" that SHE was responsible. My sisters and I laugh maniacally as we discuss the body dismorphia that exists in our family. We can hardly hear the laughter over the sounds of our ravenous bellies. But we continue laughing nonetheless. A cackling gaggle of skeletons. We follow one another's cues. When I dropped to a size 8 sis #2 dropped to a size 6. So I raise you that 6 and give you a skinny minnie 5 and a half. She scoffed at my 5 and a half and dropped to a 2 like a brick falling from the sky. Blam! Bones. I remain a 2 while my sisters both battle it out at 00. I fold. You got to know when to hold 'em... know when to fold 'em... know when to walk away... know when to run. My mother blames her mother and so on and so on.
My husband loves to remind me daily the screws in hy head are loose. "You're not fat! I love you curvy!" My friend cries she wants to be the most attractive woman her man has ever been with. I believe he already thinks she is. Here's the thing... we KNOW they want us how they found us. We just want all the ladies eyeing our men to know he cain't git no better. I want to be his personal super model. So its not really about what men want is it? All a man wants is a purdy lady who treats 'im real nice. As far as weight goes its all about the women.
So I'm a hypocrit. I tell my friend she's a HOT size 6 and then hold myself to a skinnier standard. I want every woman I come in contact to secretly hate me because the bitter jealousy in their mouths is like putrid garlic. I succeed at having women hate me. Saddens me. I also want women to love me because I'm one of them. Because I have the same struggles, insecurities and fears.
There is a chocolate silk pie in my fridge. I'm going to have some. You'll find me drenched in sweat head to toe tomorrow am. HYP O CRIT.
Disclaimer: By writing this blog I in no way suggest females who wear larger than a size 12 are unattractive or fat. This just happens to be my personal frame of reference so don't get all mad. Geez!
