A few years ago, while I was in grad school, this random girl just walks up to me and starts gushing about this diet she lost so much weight on, and how she was sure it would work for me, too.
Umm...no. So not the way to approach that subject, nor yet the time.
I was about 125 pounds at the time. Not fat, by any means. Not even for my height. She was either a paid-for shill doing cold contact work, or a complete bitch. Either way, her approach was catty, ill-timed, and made me want to back-hand her into the street.
Instead, I replied with "Well, honey, maybe I don't want to look like a perfectly-put-together and perfectly-pressed outfit on a hanger. And maybe my other half likes having sex without getting sliced to death on my thighs, ribs, hips, and collar-bones."
Now? It's eight years later. I have had two children, and my body shows it. I'm about fifteen pounds heavier than I used to be, but my waist measurement is the same as it was before I got pregnant with the imp.
Where's the weight? On my chest, and on my hips--mostly my chest.* I look like freakin' Barbie in my proportions. No, I'm not thin, but I'm not fat, either--though, when I'm wearing a jacket or gun burkha, that's hard to spot.
And guess what I heard in Wal-Mart last week? Yep. And she got the same response as the airheaded twit in grad school got.
*If you really want to know, you can ask in the comments.
3 minutes ago