I don’t have a particularly fat ass and my tits are small. I don’t fill out a bathing suit without the aid of padding. On a good day, I might be able to fill out a B cup. Those good days are usually accompanied with bloating and cramps, but I relish the discomfort. For six days out of the month, my boobs fill out the palms of my hands. After that, it’s back to flat.
The world doesn’t appreciate a body like mine. Not unless it’s hurtling itself down a track in pursuit of gold or on a soccer pitch. Guys don’t walk up to me and ask me for my number. At best, I get polite nods before I’m passed over for conversation with my full-bodied girl friends. It never bothered me before, but damn it if I don’t want to feel desirable as well. That’s it. I want someone to want me…just as I am.
I can’t imagine that anyone would. On Instagram, there is a direct relationship between the girth of a woman’s breasts and the number of likes. In a world of dating apps, I have to wonder if the swipe right feature is broken, because… Ah! This dryness has done little for myself esteem. I’ve demanded uncountable squats from my thighs as remuneration for this slight. So far, the butt fat has not paid up.
My father, bless him, is a New Age African dad. He has invested lots of money into my wardrobe, going as far to make sure I have pretty underthings to make me feel pretty. I left a pair in Accra last year when I went to visit my mother. I wonder who in that house is wearing them. Of course they are wearing them. They’re too sultry just to keep for me until my return.
I turn and take a look at my backside. Then I give it a slap. The sharp tingle beneath my skin’s surface pushes a smile to my lips. I realize something I hadn’t noticed about my body before. The skin, smooth and brown has the hue of gingerbread. There are two dimples above my waistline. And while my breasts may not be fleshy, my nipples – large and dark – look like wells of dark, sweet Guinness. I imagine some mystery man finding pleasure in them. Perhaps a mystery woman. Who knows? I’m open to love…and right now, I love what I see.
Fuck conventional body standards. My body goals for this year are never to do another squat so long as I live.