What to write about as the first post in my blog is a source of contention – in my own head! Do I regale you with tales of my childhood or of my life now, in the present?! Or do I go with something controversial, that will inspire debate and discussion?! Perhaps the latter would do more justice to my thoughts in the here and now!
I have encountered a number of objectionable people in my thirty-three years, but yesterday I had the pleasure (or not!) of standing in the same room as possibly the most objectionable female possible! Objectionable I say because she, like me, is a mother and role model to a ten-year old girl; but “Girl Power” was evidently the very last thing on her mind!
“Now I don’t like to bitch” said the woman . . (yeah right!) “But she’s gone fat! . . She must be at least a size twelve now”. The woman half-pointed at another woman standing close-by. I looked down at my own size twelve body in utter amazement, and said nothing! By simply moving away, I hoped it would be enough to convey my horror at this assertion. I mean I remember it happening as a teenager at school, but to hear it come from the shiny glossed-lips of a seemingly educated adult woman was beyond comprehension!
I raised the matter with my husband when I got home; and who in honest perplexity stated “But a size twelve is definitely not fat!”. His bemusement reminded me how strange the “fat” insult is. I mean is “fat” the worst thing a woman can be? Is “fat” worse than spiteful, envious, superficial, conceited and callous? Not by me; but then, you might contend, what do I know about the pressure of being skinny? Afterall I’m not in the business of being judged on my looks, what with earning a living using my brain . . . .
Maybe all this seems trivial or like I’m making a Everest-sized mountain out of a molehill, but really it is not! It’s about what females want to be and how they feel about who they are. My daughter will have to make her way in this skinny-obsessed world, and it concerns me, because I don’t want her to be a self-obsessed, emaciated talking toothpick whose only function in the world is to be supporting the market in oversized handbags and rat-sized dogs. Instead I’d prefer she was original, interesting, optimistic, kind, opinionated and funny – a million things before “thin”. And frankly I’d prefer that she doesn’t give a gust of malodorous Bichon Frise flatulence whether the woman standing next to her has meatier elbows than she does. Let my girl be Victoria Wood, rather than Victoria Beckham. Rant over . . .