No, I’m not talking about what it means when he tilts his head to the left, while raising his right eyebrow as he brushes imaginary lint off your left shoulder.
I mean the words we use to describe our undesirable body parts. Those bumpy, lumpy, jiggly, jelly bits we wish were not related to us.
I often joke that I don’t just have calves; I have a herd! And it’s not just my fat parts I don’t like. Why can’t my lips be as full as my hips? Why can’t my hips be as small as my… um, well, you know…
It doesn’t seem to matter what size we are, we can always find ways to speak poorly about our bodies and ourselves.
One morning during a camping trip with my older sister Judy and her family, I awoke to the sounds of her singing this little ditty:
I feel like a big fat pig today
Pig today
Pig today
I feel like a big fat pig today
All covered in BLUBBER!
I think I’ll stay in my bed all day
Bed all day
Bed all day
I think I’ll stay in my bed all day
And sleep my life away!
She is a size three! A Canadian size three, which is an American size one. “You can’t sing that!” I lamented. “That should be my song.”
If she felt like a big, fat pig how did she think I felt? Especially after eating all those chips and dip the night before? She claimed that since she has “woodchopper legs,” she’s allowed to sing songs like that. “But I have a herd!” I reminded her.
It’s Remembrance Day today and it brings to mind a WW2 veteran I saw at a ceremony over a decade ago. He was in a wheelchair; both legs amputated from injuries he suffered during the war. I told myself back then that I needed to stop complaining about my thunder thighs and be thankful I have two fully functional legs that take me (almost) anywhere I need to go.
As I watched the news tonight I saw a young Canadian soldier at a cenotaph standing tall on two artificial legs after losing hers in Afghanistan. Next time I start talking trash about my body, I will remind myself, “I’m bigger than that.”
