No, we’re not about to discuss chickens.
I’ve just made one of my casual observations.
Women, who only think about their weight.
I was stretching after my run when I overheard a conversation a girl in her 30s was having on her cell that went something like this:
I knew I shouldn’t have had the veal. I asked for no salt, but my thighs, I swear are twice their size. And my stomach Connie, is so bloated. What am I gonna do? I have a gym date with Rick after work.
Wished I could have heard what Connie had to say.
Ya think if I starve myself all day, my stomach and thighs will go back to normal? Okay. Just coffee. Can I have coffee?
By the look on her face, I gather Connie said, no coffee.
No, I didn’t weigh in, no pun intended, but did wonder, who the hell made Connie Juan Veldez.
It was then I noticed all the fatties stuffed in Spandex thinking their dessert is concealed. Congealed is more like it since Spandex leaves inroads on your body making you resemble a Road Atlas. Cleavage of course is running amok, proving there’s always an upside, and then some, to everything.
When did we start dating our bodies? Okay, I’m thin, however, it’s not as though my bod is perfect. Think Olive Oyl, just with better posture.
It made me feel for that woman who was regretting her veal. Frankly, she probably had no idea she had just munched on a baby calf. That might have changed her outlook since, she at least, tummy and all, was still on the planet.
It’s our culture. It’s Vogue and Buzzfeed, Oprah and The View.
Oprah has been on a diet for forty years, gaining, losing, so her self-absorption having such influence, is catchy.
This brings me to the stick figures of Vogue who now all look like little boys…no chests, legs the length of string beans braying…don’t eat, if you want to look like me.
No wonder eating disorders have gone Platinum.
If I knew where to find Connie’s friend, I’d tell her, honey, don’t believe everything ya hear. It’s really okay, to have that cuppa coffee.