So lets assume then that I’m going to bypass the first 3 suggestions that we mooted yesterday – I think it’s best. Last time I looked there wasn’t a long line of eligible blokes beating a path to my door and in all honesty, having dipped in and out of the dating scene once or twice as both a skinny girl and a fat girl, I can tell you that a number of blokes for whom body shape isn’t too much of an issue tend to be a bit slack where their own personal grooming is concerned. Just because I have a big bum and bingo wings does not mean that it’s ok for them to go native with the nose and ear hair. And whilst we’re on the subject, just because some ladies are scared of the word ‘fat’ and describe themselves as ‘curvy’ does not entitle blokes to stand on a box for their profile photo and describe themselves as tall. What?? *innocent face* 🙂 I’m just sayin.
Anyway, I digress – lets save the dating stories for another time and place. We were talking about ideas to keep us motivated on our respective diets. The next suggestion on the list was to get a massage. How lovely…can’t beat a good massage. But could I really relax on the massage table, when I’m carrying the equivalent of an extra person inside my one body? There are just too many things to worry about.
Lets start with the towel. For average sized people, the towel they provide to cover yourself with when you’ve doffed off and climbed onto the massage table probably looks like a big fluffy bath sheet. To me, it would feel more like a flannel. What am I meant to cover up with that, seriously? Left cheek? Right cheek? And the masseuse, what about them? I can feel the flush of shame creeping up my face as I think about what would be going through their mind when they peeled away the flannel and uncovered acres of dimpled flesh, artfully draped in the peaks and valleys of the morbidly obese.
Yes I realise they’ve probably seen it all before but I’d want the ground to open and swallow me up. (Which to be fair, it very well might if they’ve gone for the budget option massage table.) I imagine them mentally calculating how much extra massage oil they’re going to need to order this month and wondering whether they can get away with charging extra. When my imagination really runs wild, I imagine them yelling across the salon “HOLD MY FEET, I’M GOING IN” as they rope in a colleague to mitigate the risk of getting swallowed up by my wobbly bits. So with all that going on in my head, how could I possibly relax?
At the risk of being terribly picky, whilst I’m all for a good pamper session I think I’ll cross out ‘massage’ and go for ‘facial’ instead. There’s not quite so much to worry about.
