I’ve never struggled with being overweight. Ever. Practically nobody in my family (save an aunt of mine) is even anywhere close to being overweight. We’re just naturally thin people, and always have been. I was always praised for my figure by everyone- my mother, my friends, the opposite sex, and even some girls who poked jealously at the insane idea that I might be “anorexic”. At 5′10″, I weigh between 135-140. I’ve got long legs, a tight body, a small waist and a nice shape. I’m not packing too much up top- I’m a b- but nobody ever seemed to mind. And, once I finally grew out at around 16- the flat chested jokes ceased. As for a butt, I’ve got one of those too- nothing crazy… but not bad for a skinny white girl. I’m hourglass shaped- which by some accounts is rare, and by most- a highly prized trait.
For all of my life I’ve met praise for my body, and for the most part I’ve been quite happy with it. My boobs aren’t uncomfortably huge, I look good in most ready to wear clothing, and they always have my size. Just as every girl, I wince when I get on the scale to see I’ve gained that extra five or cellulite starts to work it’s way into my thighs from too much sitting around… but, I’ve never felt bad about the way I look, or met with disapproval from someone else… until now.
I know I shouldn’t care- but, we women are cursed with the ever present issue of self esteem. If you take a gander at modern day Los Angeles (where I currently reside), you can see plainly that women everywhere are modifying themselves to please the men they love and spite the girls they hate. I am no different. I fall victim to the whims of a man just as quickly as any other girl- and none of us are immune. It’s ingrained in us to attract the opposite sex- and some will do it by any means necessary.
My boyfriend is a great person. I love him dearly and honestly wouldn’t mind being with him for the rest of eternity. He’s the first I’ve ever felt I could honestly build a future with. But, with every great, intelligent, sexy, funny, sensitive, interesting guy we meet- there is always a downfall, a catch… He’s the most critical person I’ve ever been with in my life. Ever. I have never been so conscious of the way I look, smell, or dress in the entire length of my existence. I honestly don’t think I was doing too bad of a job before, and I never had to think about it- but now? It’s always on my mind.
Here’s the deal. He likes ‘voluptuous’ women. Cartoonish creatures with giant breasts teensy waists, and asses that look like they were inflated with helium. Where these super-womanly beings reside (other than in the valley), I can’t say for certain. But, what I do know is… they’re exactly what I am not. What the hell he is doing with me, if that’s what he finds attractive, I can hardly figure. And, he has no qualms about telling me, staring at other girls asses when we’re out together, or cracking jokes. I feel like an anorexic teen fashion model…without the fashion model part.
Yeah, it sucks to be at the opposite end of what is attractive. Now I know what fat chicks go through. It’s self-esteem crushing. But, unlike many bigger girls, there is very little I can do about it. I eat plently- sometimes more than plenty. I don’t over exercise. And, even during bouts of depression when I’ve sat on my ass for months on end- my weight really never budged. I’m just thin. My momma is thin, both my grandmothers were thin. My great grandmother was thin. And, my father is thin too. Tall and thin.
So, what does one do when she finds herself in such a predicament that her boyfriend spends a great deal of time fantasizing about the girl I can’t possibly be? Eat more, as he has “jokingly” suggested more times than I can count? Modify myself? Do I leave? Do I bite my tongue and deal with it? How do you face the painful reality that you aren’t what he wants on the menu?
He insists I’m being ridiculous. He insists he loves me regardless. But, who the fuck is he fooling? He clearly likes something else more. And, I’m not that something else. While the jokes may have ceased, the actions remain the same. Staying up all night and looking at porn when I’m RIGHT THERE speaks volumes. Losing it while we’re in the moment says it even louder. You may like me as a person- but, the physical chemistry isn’t there. Porn has fried your brain. That’s what women look like to you, and I don’t think I can convince you that despite the fact that I only wear a size six, I’m still a woman too. A woman who used to be quite happy with how she looked.
So next time I find nude pictures of your “voluptuous” ex in your email folder, please try to understand why I’m upset. We’d be perfect- if only I looked more like her.
