Fat Girl’s Confession
Roll up and see the Fat Lady!
Such a jolly sight to see.
Seems my figure is a Figure of Fun. . .
to everone but me.
Smile! Say Cottage Cheese!
You all know me -
I’m the Office Fat Girl, the one you see
Wearing Vast Dark Dresses and a Cheery Veneer . . .
And lingerie constructed by a civil engineer.
Occasionally, you’ll meet some bloke who’ll give you this tripe
about how, yeuch, he’s repelled by the skinny model type.
He can’t see the attraction, he’ll swear by all he owns
It’d be like lying in bed with a rickle of bones.
But, oh how he lurves
Yir Voluptuous Curves
and your Supper Board that Groans.
I met him at my wee cousin’s wedding - he was the Best Man
- he says to me would you like to go out for a bite to eat? I
mean, do you fancy a curry? A Chinese? An Italian? I said,
who me? Oh, I love . . .
Lasagne and canne-linguini and pasta and stuff.
(well, who with pasta, ever says basta,
And then for my main course I tend to choose
something smothered in a sauce made of butter, cream and
with asparagus hollandaise and cauliflower mornay
potatoes dauphines, onion rings and mushrooms saute.
And after the cheeseboard, my sweet tooth’s nagging, so
I need another great big stodgy wedge of Blackforest Gateau.
Well, when it comes to pudding,
the way I see it -
with cheesecake you’ve got a choice:
Either EAT it or BE it.
I didnae cry when he left me.
I gave not one cheep, not a chirrup -
just devoured a whole packet of Mr. Kipling’s Kunzle Cakes
and a half-hundredweight sack of Mexicali Taco chips dunked
went for a double blackpudding supper, then half an hour
I ravished the refrigerator
(in my classic response to Rejection and Pain)
and immediately began eating
My Heart Out again.
much as I miss you
I just been reading how Fat Is A Feminist Issue.
Fat Girls like me have all fallen from grace -
If I could feed my own ego I wouldnae need to feed my face!
Everyone needs Oral Satisfaction, but
the Truly Fulfilled don’t need a filled-full gut.
I says, Enough of this Junk Food, You Are What You Eat.
When did you last see your lover?
When did you last see your feet?
So . . . I’m persevering, but it’s kind of hard
to live on lettuce, and self-regard.
But, you know, I’ve been really, really, really good today!
Breakfast was black coffee, plus a saccharine tab
from the tube,
For my lunch, a half-a-cup of chicken bullion made with a
Knorr chicken stock-cube.
Dinner: two slice of starch-reduced Ryvita
with a scrabe of slimmer’s imitation margarine,
then I pedalled myself blue in the face on the Exercise
See, I’ve joined this Health Club, and hell, I
saw some sights you wouldnae believe!
Enough heaving flesh to make you heave.
All that pummelling, and pedalling, and pounding, and
and keeking in the mirror to see how much thinner you’re
Well, there’s not one lady Waging the Inch War or wielding
who doesnae wish for a Dishy Man to lick her inty shape.
So, I’m stuck here in this Stephanie Bowman Sweat-It-Off
I feel a right clown!
I’m to huff, I’m to puff,
I’ll wear my hips down.
I’ll mortify my surplus flesh,
remove it like a tumour . . .
and all to make myself the kind of confection
who’ll appeal to the Consumer?