Well, that’s crap.

(or “Hey, body-positive movement! You’re working!”)

This is a problem for me.

It’s about a woman who chooses between food and sex. Apparently she doesn’t feel sexy with food in her stomach, and thinks she’s got to skip meals to get drunk enough to fuck.

Okay, first of all, if I wouldn’t do him sober, I sure wouldn’t do him drunk. Or anything drunk, for that matter. Sex while impaired isn’t my bag.

Second: I have seen what I look like naked. I regret very much that I let myself get down to skin and bones at one point, because now I’m struggling to achieve even the smallest curves. My hands photograph as claws and my wrists as twigs. If I stretch even the slightest bit, out pop the ribcage and the hipbones. Yeah, it’s sexy — if you think anorexia’s sexy.

I don’t. Even when I starved, I didn’t.

I have a harder time feeling sexy as a very thin woman. In fact, I feel better when I’m retaining water, or naturally gaining a little. I wish my breasts would fill out to a full A-cup, or even a B. I wish my naughty pictures didn’t have that air of cancer patient about them. I love myself below the ribs because I’m finally getting a belly, a backside, and real thighs. How can skin and bones inspire a woman to find her own sensuality?

At least there’s major concern for the author of the piece in the comments. The whole world’s not crazy. Phew.


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