Last night, while I was happily inhaling pizza and beer, I realised that I had just one month left before I would have to walk around in a bikini in front of other human beings.
In two seconds flat I sped through all the emotions womankind could possibly experience in this type of scenario.
In my case the particular order went like this:
1) Blind panic – how am I going to get svelte in a month?
2) Relief – at least I have a month
3) Disappointment – didn’t I promise myself last year I won’t be in this position again?
4) Hatred (for self) – I’m a fat, ugly pig!
5) Hatred (for the world) – summer, bikinis, fun, people … I HATE IT ALL
6) Pity – why wasn’t I just born tanned, slim and beautiful?
7) Anger – why aren’t I currently eating a healthy salad and drinking mineral water after a strenuous workout?
8) Resolve – from now on you’ll find me eating healthy salads and drinking mineral water after strenuous workouts
13) Blind panic
After that short, but very unpleasant interlude I got my brain under control and went back to the important business of finishing my beer – riding the emotional rollercoaster is thirsty work after all – and my natural rebellion kicked back in.
Se gat am I going to get swept up in all this nonsense again. I’ve paid my dues, thank you very much, and I’ve sacrificed months, if not years, of my life being miserable over such kak.
So I found it serendipitous when one of the first links I stumbled across this morning illustrated my thoughts and mood beautifully.
Basically, the piece boils down to just how ridiculous and weird-assed the expectations of us are.
We should be slender but not thin, tall but not gangly, toned but not muscled, tanned but not leathery, sexy but not slutty, dewy but not shiny, wrinkle-free but not frozen.
We must have flat stomachs with a hint of definition but never a six pack. We must have round butts but never fat asses, we must have boobs that are bouncy, but magically still firm and if they’re fake they’re not allowed to look fake.
We must have teenage skin but without acne, our hair must be voluminous but not frizzy, we should be fashionable, but with our own signature style.
We must spend enough time and money to make this all possible, but never ever talk about it. We must pretend that we are just happily perfect and never let any issues, neuroses or hard work show.
Instead we should be laid-back, “eat-anything-you-want”, fun but feminine girls who just came out the box that way.
Otherwise we’ll spoil the illusion and bore the hell out of other people.
I told you it’s ridiculous. We will never win, because the game is rigged. So for the love of ourselves, STOP PLAYING!
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