Wednesday, 14 April 2010

No magic pills yet

Alas, the Skinny Fairy has not left any magic fat melting pill under my pillow. It seems the only way to realize my true destiny of being thin (or at least not requiring fabric from the local circus big-top to cover my ass) ... I must exercise.

And I cannot classify exercise as making a cup of tea; knitting; watching other people engage in physical activity or imaginging myself fit and thin. Because to date none of those activities have resulted in a smaller pant size. And in actual fact have resulted in a larger pant size.

Why should I be defined by the size of my ass? What does it matter what number is printed inside my pants - does it make me a better person? Does the world stop functioning because I had some chocolate?

At one time, women were celebrated and lauded for having curves. Have you ever seen a size 0 painting Sistine Chapel? No! Now, well god forbid your pants have 2 digits in them and lord almighty god forbid the numbers begin with a 2.

Would I love to be able to walk into a shop and find a pair of pants that do not require elastic or enough fabric to span a football field. Absolutely. But for once in my fat-assed life, I would love for someone to look at me and not see a body but to see a person.

Of course, I will also be flying to the moon on my pink unicorn named fluffy when that happens.

Tonight, I shall make my way to the gym. Where of course it will be filled with thin toned people. Hooray

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