Is it just me or is there a bunch of crazy ass shit on Facebook these days? Okay, I know that it’s not new information, but it seems to me that every day you log on and there is another crazy ass article or pin about the unrealistic expectations of the female body. This week specifically, after blogging about the bikini-bridge, I learned of a new term called the “thutt”. Yep, doesn’t take a genius to see that it’s a combo between “thigh” and “butt” in fact it’s the crease where the two meet, and the more well defined that area the better. I made it easy for you this time: Thut Article The prescription to a hot thutt is lots of squats. I’m not one to brag, but I think I’m okay in the thutt department. In fact, my backside is how I got hitched so you won’t hear me complain about the junk in my trunk.
Then there was the article about the new “plus-sized model” in Cosmo mag that is a size 12, and she is probably six feet tall as well. Size 12-16 is average, and yes, also plus-sized, which is a crappy term in it’s own if you ask me. What the hell does “plus” signify here? Is it the same as the infamous “plus one” that is so offensive on wedding invitations? Does it mean something extra is added to what is only supposed to be there? Either way, it’s just one thing after another to keep you looking at and analyzing your own body. We are constantly trying to figure out where we fit in the scheme of things. The internet playing with our body con.
And I am constantly trying to figure out where I fit which is kinda in between here and there. I was so excited to find cheap brown boots online, because since I am between reading novels, I have a lot of time to browse Pinterest. There is a theme that reigns in the outfits that are pictured and here is what I have gathered to be the perfect no fail I’m the boss outfit:
Crisp white t-shirt
So I search for cheap brown wide-calf boots and find a pair on Amazon.com. Two days later they are here, and the whole time they are on the goddamned UPS truck I am already having anxiety that they won’t fit over my fat ass calf. In fact, I have already decided that I should look for the packing tape to send them back.
They arrive and thank God I have a child home with me because I am lying on the floor on my belly trying to have gravity flatten my fucking leg so my 8-year-old can help me zip. You know, like when your jeans are too tight and you lay back on the bed to zip those? Okay, you get the picture.
I get the boots zipped and pull myself up and….what the hell is that? Is that….dare I say….boot muffin top?? But it’s only the right leg, and I think my leg is kinda crooked, so… now I’m stumped. I was so worried the boots wouldn’t zip and now they do and I’m self conscious about something else. I turn around and they look fine from the back, thutts and all.
Emotional roller coaster, weight-loss life was much simpler before the internet and it’s variety of new terms, rules, and regulations for the female form. So I do what any logical Italian woman does after such an experience.
I pound out some pizza dough.