I have taken agin the term Yummy Mummy. To be honest I haven’t actually taken any notice of it till now. That is until someone told me I needed to become one. Not be one, not am one…BECOME one. Well. Am I not delicious already? Not a tasty treat? Apparently not. Here’s how it all went down..
Butthead…”You should become a yummy mummy!”
Butthead…“Yes, you know. Get your body back!”
Me “I wasn’t aware I’d lost it.” (Ha, ha. I’m so droll.)
Butthead “No” Confused pause. “But don’t you want to lose weight?” (I know, seriously, who asks that?)
Me “Well I’d like to be healthier and get a little more moderation happening.”
Now this is where I use humour to deflect my violent tendencies.
“Except for Magnums, I’m not moderate about them. I’m going to continue to eat the shit out of them.”
Butthead Confused pause.
End conversation as butthead moves away.
I am slightly bemused by the whole thing. Bemused because I wonder what my physical aspect really has to do with this person’s life? Does it affect her day to day happenings so much that I’m not measuring up to her beauty standards? Is it that hard to accept me as I am? Or is she just a blathering idiot?
The whole term itself is so lame. It really is. Put on your lamest voice and say it. Yummmmmy Mummmmy. I’m sorry if you like it. But it really does nothing to further the cause of letting people be themselves. Rather it just makes those of us who don’t aspire to be stick insects feel shitty. Also when you’ve had no sleep, have vomit down your shirt and are wearing the only clean thing you have you don’t feel yummy, mmmkay? And why should I? Sometimes I like to schlepp around and be anything but yummy. (Though Spouse tells me I’m very yummy, bless him.) It’s awfully liberating to be imperfect. Those of you aspiring to be perfect? I suggest you relax, go buy a Magnum and eat the shit out of it.