Hey Skinny!

You never really start paying attention to your skinny until you don't have it anymore or at least until it runs and hides behind layers of life and despair.  Whether it be all those fast food stops, late night snacking, emotional eating, an out of control thyroid, pregnancy or just a "what the ef ever" outlook on food.

For some of us, our skinny is hidden under genetics and just bad body make up.  It's just not fair.  There are people out there who NEVER consider their skinny.  They wear it like a Harry Potter invisibility cloak. 

For instance, in middle school there was this perfect girl - perfect hair, perfect make-up,  perfect clothes.  I would just sit back and watch her.  Not all stalker-ish because this was the early 90s, but I would see her on the bus, not a hair out of place.  

That 
crap 
irritated 
me.

I didn't hate her.  I don't even think I envied her.  I asked God what the heck  did I do wrong to be born like this?  Like, Lord, did you think you needed to make it any harder for me to find my niche in this world?

I was black, I had a big nose AND lips and motherland boobs that looked like two flat saucers hanging from my chest - I could have been one of the many extras on the Shaka Zulu movie. "Shaaakaaa!"

Sorry about the visual.

I had finally gotten the boobs I really didn't want - or thought I wanted; they came so quickly, I didn't know what to do with them.  I just know that I prayed an wished so hard for a nice set that when I finally got them, I could no longer wear a bathing suit WITHOUT a bra.  What does that tell you boys and girls - well girls anyway?  That Judy Blumes mantra, "I must, I must, I must increase my bust!" just flat out didn't work!

The first time I noticed my skinny, I was barely 15 and I bought a skirt, a jean wrap skirt.  It was cute - took me forever to figure out how to put that sucker on.  When I finally had it on, I was so uncomfortable.  I mean my legs were showing!!!  I had no clue about my skinny.  It was just eking to be noticed, just a little.  There was no one around to notice my skinny - nothing positive anyway.

But I hated my body.  Not with an obvious hate.  A neglectful hate. I had no interest in my body or it's progression into womanhood.  It was just.....there - the vehicle that carried around my head.  I didn't care about going through puberty (cept for my saucer boobs)  all those things fell on my sister - she was the oldest so pubescent milestones fell in the shadow of an afterthought.  

Like what's so exciting about the 2nd born child getting boobs?? Rah, rah, rah.

Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.

I could kick myself as I look back now.  My poor skinny.  Battered, bruised, beaten and left for dead on the side of the road.  Did she cry?  Did my skinny fight violently for attention?  Did my skinny stare back at me in the mirror, screaming silently as she slowly faded into obese oblivion?  

Those few times that I actually looked in the mirror - my skinny was staring right back at me.  Shaking her head in that, "Oooooooohh, you done done it now!" way.

Skinny, how long have you sung My Heart Will Live On?  

"Far too long", she replies.