Fat Becomes Her

I have been informed by a reliable resource that the ring of fat that I have unwittingly acquired around my unhappy midriff over the last few months is part of being a woman.

Not only that, it actually has a name, and a purpose (however dubious).

My source, who was in turn informed of this unhappy development by her doctor, divulged that this 'ring of fat' (NB: not the technical name, she couldn't remember it, but lets face it that's exactly what it is so there's no point shrouding it in a veil of complicated terminology. Fat it is and fat it shall be called) is, in short, for having children.

The fat will stretch to accommodate the foetus as it grows and then will (alledgedly) shrink back down once the baby has been born. But the fat around the hips and back will stay. Indefinitely.

Initially I took some comfort in not being alone, in knowing that it wasn't down to being a web designer (I have managed to attribute all the rest of the crappy things in my life to my job, so I thought I'd give it some time off) but actually to being a woman.

Then it hit me.

Becoming a 20 something woman has pretty much been all about disappointment on the body front for me. I thought understanding that I was going to remain 5 foot nothing for eternity, and that I would never shed my puppy fat was enough.

But no. I have had to gain the harsh realisation that my body is passing its prime, just as I'm finding out what I'm supposed to be doing (with my body; with my life; in general).

I'm not sure I ever had a prime, I think I skirted around the outside, playing safe, as usual, watching in awe at the real women, abusing their development to ensnare all the boys that were firmly out of my reach. But if I did, I am certainly squinting at it from a distance by now, trying to make out its faint, but prominent teenage curves and correctly aimed breasts (as far as I am aware, from folklaw I have overheard, they were originally supposed to point horizontally).

I'd like to think that instead of the teenage curves (that I may have cunningly disguised under a substantial layer of beer induced mass) that I may or may not have had, I'd instead developed womanly curves, that would hopefully be in for the long haul.

But being rather short, I look a bit ridiculous with curves.

I look like a child who's accelerated through puberty too fast, donning their mother's high heels and low cut dresses (that fall way too low so that their breasts are virtually drooping of their own accord, trying to remain decent by hiding under some sort of vague fabric covering).

My clothes and my inability to apply makeup don't really help my womanly development.

I have, for as long as I can remember, opted for the comfy route over the looking less like I really have just walked out of Matalan/Primark/TK Maxx (replace as appropriate) kitted out in a whole new outfit for less than £20 (yes, its possible) and more like a lady.

And as for makeup, I own 3 x very old, very worn, in need of replacing mascaras; 1 x Rimmel lipstick minus lid that is at least a year old; 1 x Rimmel Concealer; 1 x Number 7 lipstick that I got free from my Gran. That gives you an idea of how much I spend on makeup and probably a good idea of how much attention I pay to attempting to beautify myself.

I am not wearing makeup now. If I did I would sweat and I would have unsightly mascara trails running down my face, just to highlight my amateurishness, my playing at being a lady. Without makeup I have been mistaken for as young as 14. That gives you an idea of what I have to work with.

So, whilst I think its all very well that I'm now carrying yet another disappointing burden of womanhood (alongside the painful realisation that has hit me like a slow dull ache, and taken a surprisingly embarrassing amount of time to sink in, that I will never be close to attaining the figure of Kiera Knightley or Cameron Diaz), I'm not sure it is wonderfully fair.

Don't suggest a diet, or more exercise, or attempt to cheer me up with tales of how wonderful it truly is to be encased within the female form.

I have PMT.