I went to the States at the end of last year. And you better
believe I ate out every meal, every day for a month. Not to mention the massive
free-poured cocktails I consumed nightly and the candy which was so cheap and
novel lining every convenient store shelf. I even bought an individually packaged
pickle in New Orleans, amazing! Suffice to say, I came back a little chubbier
that I was when I left. Whatever, I thought; the weight will come off once I go
back to normal life – playing basketball, eating lots of veg… It’ll be fine.
But it wasn’t. A month on and I was still more oompa loompa than impala. My
favourite dresses didn’t sit in quite the same way, I started having to wear
loose fitting t-shirts to work to cover my paunch and my confidence, wit and
ability to flirt with tradies while serving them food and coffee faded a
little. I even stopped cutting love hearts out of beetroot and placing them on
plates beside sandwiches and pies. (This is a fun little addition I find
amusing as it sends an odd mixed message; it’s cute but a little creepy,
especially when it bleeds red juice everywhere.) Anyway, it was sad times in
the world of Maz.
It appeared that drastic measures would have to be taken. So
I did the worst thing a person could do and I googled free diet plans. Oh, the
shame. I came across a diet which I had completed successfully back on ’04 – I
won’t name it because it works and I want those of you carrying some extra
weight to keep it on, so that we can all remain part of the same jiggly
fraternity – but it basically involved only eating fruit, veg, vegetable soup
and two steaks at the end of the week. I honestly thought that it would be a
piece of cake to complete (pun intended).
By the evening of day two (soup and vegetables) my husband
came home to find me sitting on the couch, knees up to my chest (I don’t want
to say I was in the foetal position, but I was in the foetal position) a moment
away from tears. We both decided that it was time to fuck that diet right off
and go and get a pizza. My very best efforts and I lasted not even two days. I
mean, I love being lazy, and surely going on a diet speaks to this desire to be
a sloth; you are required to literally do
nothing. You just don’t eat. That’s all there is to it. So I suppose I will
just chalk that up as another thing which I fail abysmally at.
However, I did start to wonder if it was such a terrible
thing to be a little imperfect. All my life I have been a trick monkey.
Anything that would get a laugh, I would do. When I was fifteen and worked at
McDonald’s I would serve people while pretending to have a lisp to make the
days go quicker, I constantly black out my teeth with cake and icing when
making cakes and the other day I literally high fived someone I didn’t know,
who was standing on the median strip, while stopped at lights because I felt
that maybe my friends needed some amusement on the way to the pub. The man ran away, into oncoming traffic once he
had high fived me, it was hilarious – “job well done” I thought. So if my body
can’t be “perfect” by conventional standards, why can’t it be comical?
Personally, I think it is unfair if you are both beautiful, well-built AND a
nice, funny person. For instance, I have started to really warm to a girl at
work who has the most slamming body and a gorgeous face. She said something
really funny to me the other day and I thought “if she gets any funnier, I am
going to need her to get uglier somehow”. Go ahead; judge my character
according to that statement and while you’re at it feel free to also judge me
according to this list of things which are wrong with my body.
My thighs: I have
larger than regular thighs. I think I am technically overweight according to
that BMI thing, so of course I will always jump on board when people say that
it is all a bunch of hooey. “Yes, it’s crap”, you’ll hear me yell “there is no
one-size-fits-all way to determine whether someone is a healthy size” while
inside I’m thinking “Geez Maz, we’d better start laying off those tubs of sour
cream eaten with a spoon when alone in the house!” So while I definitely do NOT
sport the “gap factor” what I can offer is, in my opinion, just as appealing.
When dancing naked, my legs will literally clap together keeping the time of my
jig. Not only is this humorous but it’s useful – I am like a one-lady band!
Unwanted hair:
Now I know everyone has unwanted hair – legs, armpits, bikini line etc. But I
have hair in two strange places which I refuse to get rid of. Firstly, I have
this one hair on my cheek which just grows limitlessly. Occasionally when it
gets in my line of vision I will try and pull it out with my fingers. Generally
though, this will just curl it rather than remove it. So, basically, I have
facial hair which I style. Secondly, I have hairy big toes. This doesn’t help
with the long held theory that I may be part hobbit – I am quite short in
stature and the hair that grows from my toes is long and dark. I keep it,
because I feel it gives me character, plus it makes for a good conversation
starter.
Chubby baby hands:
While I am already quite a little person I sport smaller than average hands.
They are also very plump. Thanks to them I will never be able to play acoustic
guitar or hold a basketball single handed. I’m pretty sure people study
photographs of me thinking that their camera has had some sort of malfunction,
distorting the hands at the end of my arms to the point where they look like
little Christmas hams. Never fear faithful Facebook friends, these are my real
hands, your cameras and computer screens are in full working order.
Muffin top: I
have what is commonly referred to as a “muffin top” (where your chub hangs over
your pants or skirt resembling the muffin spilling from the top of its paper
shell), but here’s the kicker: it is ever-present. Even when naked I have a
muffin top. It is really quite remarkable. I am assuming that it is from
wearing clothes which are too tight (I often underestimate my size, I am so
gullible I believe the lies I tell myself!) Somehow I have actually smooshed
all my fat above and below my hip line to the point where it permanently stays
in place, now to figure a way to manipulate this further and increase the size
of my boobs.
Circle head: I
have a big round head. Once a drunken stranger on the train told me I had a
head like a pumpkin and I have to admit, he was onto something. I have a big,
round butternut-shaped noggin. When I smile my cheeks push into my eyes and
make me look all squinty. It’s cool though, because the day they start casting
for the movie of the Magic Faraway tree, you’d better believe I’ll be well in
the running to get the part of Moonface.
So there you have it, the list of things that are wrong with
me. If you can think of anything else that you’ve noticed and I haven’t, feel
free to let me know. I’m also interested to find out if anyone else has deformities
they are proud of. Regardless, the lesson for today is – if you are boring
you’d better jump right onto that treadmill or go get a nose job. And if you
are a bit of an uggo learn a joke or grow a monobrow – at least you’ll have
something to talk about. Basically, I want you all to be either ugly and funny
or boring and hot; just don’t be better than me – so we can remain friends.
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