I'm sitting here obsessing over my fat belly. It's just billowing out over my jeans like a one-eyed, bloated walrus. A fuzzy walrus, to boot. I wonder how much waxing your belly hair hurts...aaaaaack, just thinking about that stinks.
At deAsia today, I saw this grossly obese woman waddling around; her t-shirt was riding up and her white belly just bulged out, rippling and rolling down over her humungous shorts. I fear becoming like that lady. Tacky fashion and grandious gut.
In the grand scheme of stomachs, I guess my belly ranks more along the lines of a cute li'l Harper seal, not a walrus. Damn. My belly button would love a set of tusks.
How come at random intervals I'll be blanking out and suddenly I can taste you in my mouth?
This was written up because Kero suggested I write about bras, and triggered by someone's comment the other day. They were commenting on how damn loveable my breasts are. (Different vocabulary, but the point stands.) I don't have breasts, thankyewverymuch. I have boobies!
Breasts sound like a glorious maternal womanly thing. They should belong to pregnant women, for the word sounds big and swollen and possibly full of milk. At the very least, the word should only be applied to large women. Fat women do not have boobies; they have breasts.
Boobies are small; well, that is not entirely true, for large boobies can be found on small people. But the owner of the pair must be a petite person. Unlike breasts, which can sag and jiggle as the woman walks, boobies are always perky and always bouncy. It is impossible to have saggy boobies; the terms contradict completely.
The most damning feature of all is the simple fact that breasts belong exclusively to women, because they're the perfect representation of fertility and motherhood. Boobies are universal; they can belong to anybody. Girls, teenagers, boys...man-boobies anyone?