I was rejected twice in two days by men after they saw my photo. It wouldn't be so bad if one of them didn't have as his first line in his ad: “Brains before beauty.” Ugh. And it’s not as if they are Johnny Depp in the flesh. (This reference is in deference to my younger daughter’s obsession with Mr. Depp.) I mean neither of them made me drop my mouse in excitement. What is it that was wrong for them?
May I be so indelicate as to assume I know and say: fuck all of those men who want a SLENDER, PETITE, SKINNY woman. Why, why do you want a SLENDER, PETITE, SKINNY woman? Are you unable to think and see for yourself? Are you completely swayed by society's sick norms? Do you really think skinny is better than evidence of life?
Or is that code for YOUNGER? Because I don’t know about you, but most of the women my age—their age—are no longer slender, petite, skinny. Not that I ever was, because I never was. Think more Marilyn Monroe (I can’t believe I just compared myself to her, but heck, I can do what I want when I rail against bone lovers) rather than Gwyneth Paltrow. And F the men my age who want a younger woman to refresh their hearts and make themselves feel as if the aging process has been stopped. It hasn’t. And F all the diet mongerers, I can’t bear another conversation about what to eat and what not to eat, with more emphasis on what not to eat. And F all of the men who say that they work out six days a week--because he doesn't have the kids to take care of--and because he really does think that he and his body are a temple.
And F all the delicate designers who find the willowy frame of a 6’ woman who weighs 100 pounds to be perfect. And F the creative directors who air brush extra pounds off of the bodies of women with mini-curves. And F all of us who think that to be thin is to be good, and to be “with a few extra pounds” indicates that we are bad people—we are weak, unable to resist temptation. (Please, bring the temptation on.) Now I know why we marry when we’re young, before the Phase II body has set in, because if those were the Phase I bodies, there wouldn’t be enough children born out of those relationships to sustain society.
And I will not diet for an as yet unmet man. I need to exercise for myself. But you know what (whine coming), it’s hard to put the brownie down when there is nothing happy in your life. When the freezer breaks and you need to buy a new refrigerator from monopoly money, and the circuit breaker breaks so that there is no hot water for a week, and you have no parties to go to, and you’re bored with your life and dissatisfied with your unmet desires, and you’re tired of it all being so hard and futile, it’s damn hard to punish yourself even more. And yes, I know that I am the only one paying for that brownie down the hatch, but there needs to be some infinitesimal feeling of pleasure in the present.
And why the hell did the pseudo-separated man tell me that “I am perfect”? Because I now believe that I will meet another man who rocks my boat and who thinks I am perfect, in my Phase II body and with my Phase II personality.
Ugh. What a year. Here’s to 2009. I have no idea what I want from it or myself, but I would like a break in the unpleasantness rolling my way ever so consistently. And I would like to move out of this five-bedroom, 3.5 bath unhappiness-perpetuating compound. And I would like someone to seep into my heart with joy and unfettered appreciation.