Thursday, 7 June 2007
Monday 28th May '07
I was in the pub a few nights ago talking to a friend from college. He is from Japan but has been in England for several years studying art. He mentioned that even though he has been here a while he just can’t fancy English girls. They don’t even register on his sexual radar. When questioned as to why he replied that they were all just too big, in every sense of the word. I guess he is right. By Western standards my friend is very small and slight. He makes me look like a hippo, and is dwarfed by the majority of English men I know. But in Japan he is well above average in terms of size and height. It must be strange, thinking about it; going from a country in which you are normal into what must seem like the land of the giants. And the difference is not only physical. English girls these days tend to be, well how can I put it; loud, brash and heavy drinkers. By stereotype Japanese girls are quiet, petite and refined.
It’s a funny concept, bigness, and one that has so much more to it than mere weight. I have always been big, even as a child. Standing next to some of my more petite, elegant friends I often feel like some great big overblown peony that got unexpectedly planted next to a row of neat, pretty little pansies. I have always longed to be cool, elegant and chic, but my body and my personality just won’t let me. No matter what I wear or how hard I try I always look like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards. I am always ruffled, always flustered, always in a rush. I am weighed down by hundreds of bulky, mismatching layers, cardigans, umbrellas and bags of pointless stuff. I am usually dirty or covered in paint. I have always described my look as the cosmic bag lady, or just plain old lady. I am neat and I am hyper-organised but I like to be busy. I like to be doing a hundred things at once. I am bored easily and can be diverted easily, so I keep myself constantly occupied. I hate being indoors. I like grubbing around in the dirt and climbing things. Above all I detest authority, and there is just something about my body that will not be constrained either. Despite habitually buying clothes at least a size or two too big, I always seem to be bursting out of them. Ties come undone, tops ride up, trousers fall down and shoes fall off. I have a mass of hair that is impossible to tie up or do anything with, and even my features are big. Despite being a naturally shy person, everything about me and especially my clothes just screams for attention. I have a remarkable talent for sticking out like a sore thumb wherever I am, which while being interesting, is not always a fun or safe experience. But in spite of all this, I don’t think I would really want to be any different. I think my body just knows it wasn’t designed for sitting at a desk in a suit all day long. I would make a great wild jungle woman. Now where did I put that furry bikini?
In other news, I finally went ahead and bought something from the lovely lingerie website. It is a full fifties underbust girdle by an American company called Rago. (The picture shows a white one but mine is black)It looks terrifying but is weirdly sexy on, although I haven’t had a male opinion on this yet. It does wonders for my figure; I look about two stone smaller. I’m not sure what would happen if I were ever to get into an intimate situation while wearing it though. I suppose it’s like wearing a padded bra, but in reverse. What would a man do when you remove it and he discovers you are a good deal fatter than he thought? I suppose in the olden days you would exit the room to slip into something more comfortable (Or be married anyway before you even thought about getting into a situation like that) and that way he probably wouldn’t notice, but surely he couldn’t help but notice if he was to pull down the zip and you were to splurge everywhere. It’s worth some consideration I feel.