I was idly skimming yet another one of those fashion articles you see every year around this time that tells you what kind of bathing suit to buy to hide your figure flaws. And I realized for the first time that maybe they aren’t flaws. Maybe that’s just your figure. Why is what the magazines lovingly call “a pear shape” so bad? Why do I have to try and find a bathing suit that pads my non-existent chest and hides my hips and thighs with some sort of ruffled skirt? (Yes, it took me 31 years to get here. Yes, I am ashamed.)
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never walked around judging myself and others based on these articles. But somehow it also never occurred to me that these magazines are, quite simply, batshit-crazy. Why on earth would we all want to have the same figure? Is it so that we can engage in wacky Sweet Valley High-type hijinks and pull some kind of switcheroo on one another’s husbands in the dark?
Wait, is that the reason?
“Good night, sweethe — HOLY SHIT WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
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