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MY APOLOGY TO THE SKINNY BITCHES


 

~~My Apology to the Skinny BitchesI’m Sorry.

~First of all I must disclose that I have no idea what it feels like to be a skinny bitch.  I’ve never been one.  My world has been consumed by diet after rotten diet: Weight Watchers, Grapefruit diets, Cabbage diets, Poop Your Pants diets, and Starve Yourself To Death diets.  I am sorry, but I do not have empathy or sympathy or identify in any way with the skinny bitch–who after eating a couple grapes exclaims, “Ooooh, I’m stuffed!”

   Nope. I sure don’t.

{PICTURE IT}:  Eighth grade gym class.  I’m standing next to Sue Ramos and she doesn’t know I exist.  She’s a supermodel.  A Freaking Farah Fawcett lookalike.  A bitch with thighs that don’t touch.

Ms.Turnbloom is making us do jumping jacks, which I despise because my boobs are too big and my bra is too small and I’m utterly out of shape, but Ramos is performing them fluidly, flawlessly and ferociously. 

Anyway, did I tell you that Turnbloom used to be a member of the S S? At any rate, she suddenly crinkles up her ugly little Hitler mustache and screams in front of the entire gym class, “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, Sistoooooooooo, lets get those legs moving, Missy! 

Ramos looks over at me with this scoff glowing from her perfect green eyes, and believe me, it isn’t a scoff like ha-haha….the scoff looks more like Damian from that film, “The Omen.”  Yeah, it’s more like, “You don’t even deserve to breathe the same air that I’m breathing, Fatty.” 

That’s when it all started…this sort of hatred for skinny bitches.  And for myself.

Where was I going with this?

Oh, yeah, so recently I wrote this blog called “Curvy Girls in, Skinny Bitches Out,” because, well, I feel society and the media worship and idolize bony, skeletal, ribs protruding, heroine chic, Victoria Secret looking chicks.  And it pisses me off.  Royally. 

I MEAN, NOBODY…AND I’M SCREAMING THIS NOW WITH BOLD UPPER CASE LETTERS AND BLACK INKY INK…NOBODY, HAS THE RIGHT OR THE INCLINATION TO TELL US WHAT WE SHOULD LOOK LIKE!

  Women DO NOT like being told what to do.  Ever.  

“Curvy Girls” is about curves and sexiness and health. I do confess- I was a bit nasty when I spoke about a few of the skinny bitches such as Kate Moss, Paris Hilton, Posh Spice, and all of the girls out there that fit into a negative- frickin- 0.

   Sometimes I just can’t help myself. 

But a letter I received from a formal model after writing “Curvy Girls” made me reevaluate my stereotypical view on this issue.  Read below…

          “In response to “Curvy Girls IN, Skinny Bitches OUT.” Well I’m a skinny girl and not very curvy (small boobs, small butt, skinny waist, etc)…so what does that make me? A figment of someone’s imagination?  I’m sorry…but I just get so sick of that phrase. It really doesn’t help much. Sure, it might help bigger girls, but it makes me feel uglier than any runway show or modeling agency ever could…especially when I hear it all the time. I think we could’ve at least come up with a phrase that helps all body shapes and sizes instead of just ONE….the curvy one. It’s just as bad as saying that only skinny bodies are “real” or “beautiful.”

I swished her bitter syllables around in my mind for a few minutes, considered her point of view.  I thought about high school; about how I longed for a small butt, small boobs, and a skinny waist; about how I envied, adored and despised Ramos at the same time. I thought about all of those things I’ve held onto for so many decades.

And I thought about about how women are never satisfied with what they have or who they are 

After much pondering, I finally came to a conclusion.

 We cannot be defined by our physical body or the size of our jeans.    NO.  Who we are comes from within, not from without– whether we wear a size 14 or a size 2, whether we are curvaceous or thin, whether we are overweight or underweight. Whatever.

   Hell, we’re pretty much  the same when you peel back the skin ….

So this is my heartfelt apology to the skinny bitches out there who I’ve offended, envied, despised, and misunderstood for so many years. Nobody informed me, until now, that we have more in common than I ever imagined. 

   And I’m happy about that.


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