I have never liked my thighs or my butt. EVER. They have always been disproportionately large compared to the rest of my body. Except my boobs—they are proportionate compared to those things. But they are way bigger than my waist and I haaaate it. And I don’t like the shape with the thutts (that’s thigh butt, which is like a saddlebag, which is like the side of my thigh) and the flab. I gain weight in my hips, thighs, face, and boobs. I want to be one of those cute people that has hot legs and gets a big tummy instead. Tummies are easy to cover up! Dan’s mom once commented that current fashion trends make it “a great time to be pregnant” because they look like maternity clothes. You know what covers a tummy? A shirt. You know what covers stupid womanly hips? Probably an a-line skirt, but it’s not like I can wear shorts! I want to be able to wear those tiny little tight shorts like other girls. I want to be able to walk around without my thighs shaking. I want one of those bums that is in advertisements. But I also want to be able to eat ice cream every day and consume food in overabundance. And yes I am at a perfectly healthy weight (though my lack of muscle is a little concerning), and yes I have boobs that are phenomenal, and yes I like some parts of me, but WHAT I WANT TO SAY IS:
I have never, ever, ever liked my thighs or my butt. As soon as they developed, I developed a hatred of them. I was okay with that. I didn’t NEED the perfect body because what did it matter? It didn’t…until I met DAN. The moment my body became someone else’s, too, it became the most ungainly, awful, embarrassing problem in the entire world. I’m largely over that, but still feel it from time to time. I know I’m not perfect, but I don’t really want others to know it, too.
In conclusion, I hate not being the best.
