IN WHICH I CONSIDER THE CASE FOR A REFORMATION — OF THE FEMALE FORM.
Supermodel Kate Moss once noted that being thin feels better than anything tastes.
I consider that, now and then — luscious, fudgy brownie — Krispy Kreme doughnut — really hot french fries — a slice of pizza so cheesy, the hot goo strings away from the pie. I’ll go so far as to concede being thin — or in my case, at least, not fat, since I’m certainly not thin — feels as good as those fave foods of mine taste.
However, I’m happy to say, if I now had to choose between my most favorite mille feuilles pastry and a pint of raspberries, I would find them equally delectable. And this, my dear reader, is progress, and bodes well for my quest to be hot … to the grave.
But as I said, I’m not thin. I’ve got some extra, and I planned it that way. As they’re fond of saying in France, women of a certain age have to choose between their face — and their fanny. That’s because as we age and our faces get naturally drawn, if we keep the fat off our ass, thighs or belly — depending on the genetic spot we store those pesky reserves — then the price will be a wrinkled, emaciated mug. That’s why the fad for facial cheek fillers these days — to plump up apple cheeks that have gone the way of the dried apple doll.
When I set out on my weight release journey, I actually could have released more weight. (I [purposely don’t say “loss;” I’d rather not find it again, thank you very much!) I stopped at a certain point and kept it there, technically a bit “overweight,” because I knew if I went further, not only would I lose the youthful volume in my face, but my boobs and booty would vanish.
My goal is to celebrate and return to primacy the goddess, the Divine Feminine, through her physical expression as a soft, curvaceous, receptive counterpart to the hard, muscled angles of a hot, active — if you get my thrust — male.
Because the loss of this feminine mystique … has been a feminine mistake.
Yours truly,
