Jessica Biel Wants My Ass

I've always been small boned, and extremely small waisted. But not in the butt. My grandmother, who I resembled in physique, had a nickname: Big Buns. Now, it's okay to be known as "Big Buns" at 60 years old, but I didn't exactly enjoy having the name bequeathed to me in my 20's.
This past month, I've been eating whatever I want. Fried foods and rich desserts, anything. I've also allowed myself to exercise whenever I liked, which turned out to be 0 times. Now, I am going out to one or two upcoming events and I have nothing to wear. It seems that I have turned into a porker.
I guess there is something wrong in my brain, you know, with that mechanism that's supposed to tell me that I'm full. It's not working. Example: Today I ate chocolate chip pancakes and bacon for breakfast, a Subway for lunch, an Amy's meal for dinner, and a mint brownie and, I can't even say it, a little less than A QUART of Edy's Slow Churned, half the fat ice cream. I was surprised, because I don't usually like Edy's, or dietetic dessert in general, but this peppermint stick was so f-ing good, it tasted exactly like full fat. Unfortunately, eating, according to the nutritional description, seven servings of the stuff was probably not okay.
The reason why I turned into a disgusting pig is because of my sister, who, in a characteristic diatribe against our society's idealization of the underweight female, raged and gnashed her teeth in response to the self-criticism I directed toward my recently expanding body.
"If you think that you're overweight at your size, that's sick. You've always had a body image problem, I've always thought that."
"Cool," I said, tired of explaining the phenomenon of "skinny-fat," where size four jeans may still conceal a rippled jiggly mass of fat stuck on a size my five foot one, size two frame. "Maybe I do have a body image problem," I said. "That's good news. Then I can actually eat anything I want, and however gross I think I look, I'll know it's all in my mind."I have now increased two sizes, and do not fit into the fat pants I bought at the time of the of the body dysmorphic disorder discussion. I realized I do not have a body image problem, it is my sister who has an (other-directed) body image problem. It is directed specifically towards me, and is a by-product of my regrettable reign as big sister bitch-tyrant, where through torture and mind control, she sees me as some sort of idealized physical being.

Now one month later, when I have a skirt on, it looks as if I am wearing an old-fashioned bustle underneath. It's a shame they have gone out of style. My waist is still kinda small, but my ass has expanded. It is what I would call a "birth-control butt." With my clothes off, I notice that each buttock is a little bigger than the size of my head. And it is lumpy. So instead of washboard abs, I have a washboard ass. I can't even describe what it looks like, because I've never seen anything like it before. Wait, let me take another look. Oh my God. The ass sticks out like Jessica Biel's, but as if she was in a funny mirror that dwarfed everything but her butt. A pair of toddlers could stand under it and be completely shielded from a violent rainstorm. That is not an exaggeration.

I don't understand the popular notion that 'women dress for other women.' My ex-boyfriend would tell me things like that, as if he had consulted some encylcopedia of female behavior. I found out later that these are things his ex-wife, (who he still worshipped) would tell him as canons of womanhood, which he would kindly pass on to me so I could benefit from her wisdom. I disagreed with most of them, along with "all women are constantly in competition over men." In my opinion, I would usually win the argument, which he would then rebut with the statement, "well, I guess you're just not like most women." Anyway, this dressing for other women business is no different. I mean, occasionally I will bathe for other women, like if my sister is coming over after I go jogging I might take a shower , but I really only dress for male attention, and sometimes for self-expression, but certainly not all the time. If it weren't for cute guys walking around out there, I would wear L.L. Bean boots, Adidas shorts and fleece shirts everyday.
Which would be kinda the same reason I started eating all this food; it had been so long since I'd had a date that led anywhere exciting. Looking back at all the hours logged at the gym and calorie restrictions, measured against miserable returns in the dating scene, I just decided it wasn't worth it. The pleasure I got from eating fattening foods was more rewarding than what I was getting back from the guys. It's too hard. The men are so bad, and food is so good. It is getting harder to fight the good fight.