A friend told me I looked fabulous today. I shrugged it off.
Of course I don’t look fabulous.
I am fat.
I am not, ‘oh, hai, I am a size 14 and can still shop in the regular ladies’ section’ fat; I am a bona fide size 20 with more than 1 chin. I am legitimately plus size.
I am lovely. I am wearing white and denim with silver touches today, and feeling quite boho. My hair is pinned up and styled in my favorite punk-meets-secretary updo. My eye makeup skills get better with age, and my lip gloss is Sephora. My skin has an olive undertone, and despite some stray hairs courtesy of my Gypsy ancestry, is quite clear, and, well, glowing.
I accessorize religiously. I shop for clothes like an Indiana Jones expedition. I embrace colour and style, and gigantic shiny earrings. I am usually the best dressed person in a room, as I pride myself on finding the perfect outfit for every occasion. But I always have that little tiny SIZE ISSUE in the back of my mind.
I have come a long way in the past year, as far as accepting my size, and loving myself. I eat healthy foods, I maintain a level of activity, I take my vitamins, and I love my body for being healthy.
But just today did I realize I could love it for being fabulous.
It doesn’t matter what size I am. I don’t have to shrug off compliments. I don’t have to wonder if the men who hit on me are chubby chasers. I don’t have to feel I am cheating Jason out of a thin, gorgeous wife. He has a zaftig, gorgeous wife.
I AM fabulous, thanks very much.
*From "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilerra.