If I prod it, it feels kind of squishy....if I press my hand flat against it, it feels firm. There are the faintest marks around the sides of it where the skin stretched to accommodate human beings, although those scars are quite insignificant. If I look at it front ways in a mirror, it looks flabby and unattractive, yet if I turn sideways and breathe in a little I can accept it just about. It has a dreadful scar at the centre, where a piercing once made it look much prettier. At the lower part of it, there is a huge scar where surgeons sliced it open to reach inside and bring new life. When I was a small child, it was so small it had me hospitalised from its reluctance to accept food.....and when I was a teenager it was very slender and taut. At four points in its lifespan it has housed amazing people, which it grew for and protected in a proud and ceremonial fashion. When it shrank, it became hard and muscular and a trophy to its wearer.
Last week it was referred to as fat.
Last week it was referred to as round.
On this day it has been referred to as 'unfit'
I think my tummy is possibly the most revolting thing I've ever seen, as I do the rest of my body. However, I'm glad to be breathing, living and loving and the size/shape/attractiveness of my body should be irrelevant really. Having never considered myself fat, I am this week having a rethink and contemplating whether or not to absorb the nonsense like every other vulnerable soul, or just have a cream cake and pray that you like me anyway....
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