I like having a fat belly (or, as I prefer to think of it, a fanny-pack full of snacks in preparation for the zombie apocalypse). Not only do I appreciate it for its life saving properties – which in my case are genetic, my ancestors having survived the Potato Famine (not by fleeing to America, but by staying in Ireland and living on their belly fat and, quite possibly, the neighbours), I also appreciate it for its artistic and tactile appeal. This has not always been the case; like most women in the western world, I grew up believing skinny is the ideal when it comes to feminine beauty. This, I now know, is hogwash.
I first understood this when I started taking life-drawing classes (i.e. drawing someone in their birthday suit) and soon learned: when it comes to drawing the human body, there is nothing more beautiful than a full-figured woman with dinner-lady arms, pot-belly and squished up against each other thighs. The hand gestures employed to render such a woman are graceful and flowing and feel lovely to execute, as Ruben’s clearly appreciated.
I thought this discovery was an anomaly; that what was pleasing to the artistic hand/eye did not necessarily square with reality. That is, until I became a massage therapist and discovered that fat feels nicer to the touch than bony – which seems obvious now – one being round and soft, and the other, sharp and pointy. Plus, fat has the added advantage of tightening the skin, which, as you get older, is no small potatoes.
It is for this reason they say that a woman of a certain age has to choose between her arse and her face – meaning, if you want a nice small bum, all pert and such, chances are you’ll look a haggard in the face. Choose, on the other hand, a full round face, and you’ll no doubt have a big round bum to match – or two bums, as is usually the case…along with a couple of chins. The only way to avoid the pitfalls of both these scenarios is to be rich; that way, you can have your arse put in your face, and have the best of both worlds.
Now, you are probably wondering: if I like being fat, why the heck am I on a diet? The simple answer is: control. It is one thing being content with a few layers of life-saving apocalypse snacks, and another to feel like your weight-gain is out of control; especially when your coat doesn’t fit, and you look in the mirror and don’t recognise the chubby-chops staring back at you; and when you don’t want to go to social functions because you have to choose between feeling uncomfortable in fitted-clothes and wearing a muumuu; not to mention the fact that, when left to your own devices, you eat so much sugar, you worry about waking up in 10 years with diabetes, and in another 10, with no feet. When you go on a diet and get down to a reasonable weight, you can control all these scenarios. True, you might end up kicking yourself when the Zombies take over, but then, there’s always the neighbours.
Any way, Daisy, Maisy, Mabel and me have been on the diet 5 weeks now, and together we have lost about 36 pounds (that’s 16.3kg in new money). Not to skite or anything, but 15.5 pounds of that is mine. That’s because, of the 4 of us, I have the most to loose…and, when you are fatter, you lose weight quicker.
Daisy – who can eat a whole bar of Dairy Milk chocolate between Shoptrite and Regaby – is a Fat Club Gold Member, having successfully reached her goal weight in the past. When you’re a Gold Member, Fat Club is free, unless you go 5 pounds over or under her goal weight, in which case you get fined. As such, Daisy – having reprised her Regaby chocolate dash abilities during Fat Club’s absence – has been getting fined these past 5 weeks. However, I am pleased to report she only has 1/2 a pound to go before she reaches her goal range, and looks to be a shoe in for reaching her goal weight first.
The other contender for reaching her goal weight first is Maisy. Maisy wasn’t at Fat Club last night, but was on the boat this morning eating pastries, so I’m thinking Daisy might be safe.
As for Mabel…she’s gone rogue. She’s like the cult member that doesn’t drink the Kool-Aid. She doesn’t bother counting points and enjoys her food like a normal person, and is probably happier for it. She put on 1/2 a pound this week and was thrilled to bits – especially as she was going straight home after Fat Club to drink the bottle of Gin her fella had bought her for Valentine’s Day!