This Girl Can(’T BE ARSED)
I want to die the way I lived – fat and drunk. And possibly eating a kebab.
I got asked to get involved with a local campaign to promote the whole “This Girl Can” exercise and confidence thing.
You know, the government campaign where they tried to make looking fat and shite in a swimming costume the new cool thing? Oh, I can say that by the way, because I am a fat cow – no one would look more shite in a swimming costume than me. That’s if I ever wore one, because I don’t. I am fat you see, and therefore, quite lazy.
This shit here. Fuck right off.
My idea of fun isn’t swimming or running or playing on a women’s football team (oh please!), it’s sitting in a beer garden, having a fag and few pints and getting a take away on the way home; at least I am being honest about it.
The “This Girl Can” campaign really gets on my nerves, probably more than it should.
All those commercials with wobbly women (I am fat remember, I can say that) running up hills and getting sweaty or jumping into swimming pools, bingo wings flapping (see previous note) makes me feel a bit sick. I don’t think that sweat running down my arse crack while my frizzy hair sticks to my face would make me anymore of a woman. And yes woman – I’m 36, I haven’t been refered to as a girl for 20 years.
I have absolutely no desire to be healthy.
I have been there, done that and it wasn’t fun. About five years ago I came to the decision that I would rather eat pizza and drink beer than eat salad and go to the gym. I used to be skinny and it was quite hard to stay that way.
My inner fat, chavvy, bastard kept trying to escape.
I kept trying to kill her by running on a treadmill and drowning her with two liters of water a day. I was even a vegan for a bit and let me tell you, a life without a Friday night Kebab and a ten pack of Camel lights isn’t a life at all.
I might have gone a bit too far the other way over the past couple of years and got a bit too Elephant like, so I have begrudgingly gone back on Atkins to shift a few stone, but I am never going to be a size six again as I was throughout most of my twenties and I have no desire to be.
Do you know that men weren’t as interested in me when I was thin, even though I always had big boobs and an arse?
I noticed that as soon as I started putting on weight that men seemed to like me more. I mean, serious amounts of male attention. I put it down to the fact that I am no longer uptight about what goes in my mouth (insert blowjob joke here) or what I drink as long as I am having fun.
I get asked out and have phone numbers thrust into my had very often, despite being fat and hurtling towards middle age. Maybe most just feel sorry for me or think I would be an easy shag because I am desperate (which I am not) but I think some are genuine.
When I was thin I was boring and miserable – and no, I am not saying all thin people are miserable, like some jealous, fat bitch, I am talking about myself.
I was constantly trying to stay thin. I was counting calories and stressing about how much fat I’d eaten. It was no way to live and it made me boring as hell. I know there are some people who can be effortlessly healthy, but I am not one of them. I am one of those people who is meant to sit on my arse; so running about takes serious effort.
I will totally be declining the offer to help with the local campaign. My fat filled heart wouldn’t be in it, and anyway, it’s not paid.