It’s Thursday. It’s not Wednesday. Just in case you were wondering man, Jackie posted today – is it WEDNESDAY?! the answer is no. Not it is not. It is Thursday, and Jackie failed to post on Wednesday.
I spent the day telling myself I didn’t care. But that was a big fat lie. I totally care. Because here I am on a Thursday, posting. I just have this nagging feeling that missing a week will throw the entire rest of the year of weekly posting off balance and I shall never, ever recover. Or maybe you won’t. This is really about you. And how much I love you. Squishy hugs for everyone.
Okay, now moving on to more pressing matters.
I think it’s really great that as a society we have begun to question the unrealistic body images that constantly affront us in magazines, in movies, and during the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show each year. More and more often, I’m seeing links to entertaining pages that feature poorly photoshopped celebrities and supermodels. I don’t know about you but when I come to and find my sausage fingers stuck inside another empty sleeve of Oreos, I like to nurse my wounds by clicking through pages images of accidentally airbrushed-away limbs and before-shot monsterpig faces.
And now I think it’s time to speak out against the unrealistic body images that have been bombarding us for almost two weeks. You know what I’m talking about.
The Olympics.
My television has done nothing but hurl unrealistic expectations at me every day for the past two weeks with scantily clad men and women that are so perfectly chiseled that in the slow motion playback, the only things that jiggle are their cheeks. It’s preposterous. Not one single female athlete’s arms jiggle when they wave to the audience in celebration. And have you seen the women sprinters? Not only are they perfectly sculpted examples of human perfection, but they even manage to have well-placed hair! Hair that stays put after rocketing down the track at alarming speeds. HOW DO THEY DO THAT?! Even the freakish doll monsters that are synchronized swimmers have hair and makeup that sticks on through several minutes of exercising completely underwater.
I can’t get mine to stay on after the sweat I break while brushing my teeth.
When’s the last time a candid shot of you emphasized your rock hard goddess abs?
The ultimate slap in my fat face was the ESPN body issue featuring naked Olympians and national athletes. Some of them are in the midst of performing their sport. Surfers from an underwater shot, rowers pinned on the side of the boat and mid-stroke, ball players gearing up to take a shot – and all of them are perfect. Your humiliation will know no bounds.
This is worse than supermodel fixation. Much worse. At least when I open a magazine and see fashion models glaring at me with their smokey eyes, I can coax my love handles into calming down by reminding myself that I could always look like that too if I stopped eating. But when I’m faced with the chiseled abs and well-shaped thighs of an Olympian, I have no solace. These people haven’t had dessert in two years. They train 8 hours a day every day. They eat the same things constantly. They have someone whose job is solely to make sure that they’re beautiful, flawless, perfectly sculpted examples of human athletic achievement.
All I have is my cats. And when I took them to the vet last week, I was scolded for their obesity.
Even my cats are lard asses. I would make a terrible trainer.
Hobbes’ inevitable future
Luckily it’s almost over. In just a few short days, the Olympics will go into hiding for another four years. Of course, we’ll have to deal with the winter Olympics in just two, but in the winter I can console myself with the improbability of my becoming a speed skater and vats of crock pot comfort foods.
For now, I must stay strong; they’re almost done. Maybe I should start with small steps. Like looking up those outstanding waterproof hair and makeup products.
Or investing in a cat treadmill. ♣
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