You look absolutely divine, I told my friend over lunch. She’s been on a diet, lost a few kilos, and really, looks amazing.
I was a little disappointed when she didn’t tell me I looked amazing too.
Because I am a bit obsessed with skinny.
I SHOULDN’T BE, it’s unhealthy, it’s ridiculous, it’s crazy and it’s UNPC. I should be all embracing of curves and plump and adipose tissue, and also who cares if our tummies are slightly round, but – blah blah blah boring – I care.
I like thin.
It’s not that I don’t eat. I do. I love chocolate and ice-cream and all things sweet and delicious, but when I eat them, I try really hard not to eat anything else.
I skip my meals.
It’s a bit of a disorder, apparently. Unhealthy. And obsessive.
I used to be rounder – see, I can’t even use the word fat – FAT FAT, I hate it – and you know, I am just happy, fabulously unbelievably fantastically so much happier thin.
I think all women are. Even when they say they’y don’t mind their hips, bumps or lumps and that men like a well rounded arse.
Do men prefer a well rounded arse?
I don’t care.
Thin means control. It means success. It means happy.
Thin means you can easily wear your little black dress.
So I’m having anxiety because today I’ve already been out for a birthday breakfast and a birthday lunch and tonight I have a dinner date and, it’s dinner – I have to goddam eat.
Because there is nothing worse than going on a date with a woman who just orders salad without salad dressing and then picks at it.
And purses her lips at dessert.
BUT I don’t want to eat a third meal. I didn’t even want to eat the second.
Although they were both delicious and I couldn’t resist the cake and the dessert and now I’m trying to squeeze into my dress and I can’t get the zip up and oh hang on, I’m just going to have a bite of that doughnut, help.
Help. It’s unhealthy. And silly.
And I should be over this fat thing.