I Guess I Should Be Proud

Our society is obsessed with sleek, taut, well-toned abdomens — a fact of which I’m already well aware but was reminded of this evening by my husband when he spotted a poster featuring a faceless couple, each sporting ripped six-packs. Of course, this is the main reason I hate the world. Not because it’s unjust and fraught with suffering. But because I just don’t live up to the impossible abdominal standard, and I never will. 

So my husband told me to thank my mom for my shitty genetics and then, being the flatterer he is, pointed out that at least my belly is “contoured.” WTF. Was I supposed to take that as a compliment? I didn’t even know what he meant, so I asked for clarification. That’s when he said in his sweetest voice that some people have tires hanging from their waists, but my belly doesn’t hang. It’s just a little contoured paunch. How nice. I guess that makes me one lucky bitch.