Top Ten Reasons Why My Honey Adores
My Big Gorgeous Bod

by Carol Mackintosh

You know how it sometimes feels like it just took forever to get to the point of accepting and loving yourself as is, no reservations? How before you did, you kept drawing in the people who reinforced your wacky notion that only thin women deserve to be happy, to have their whole lives finally, miraculously, snap into shape?

Me too. I am so glad Iím out of that mindset and away from those people! My first husband, bless his little heart, subscribed to the Vocal Majority opinion that a woman should be small. Well, heís history, and the new and improved soon-to-be hubby #2 fervently believes that when it comes to the female form, the more the yummier!

It looks like Iíll be siding with Mr. Right on this one. I certainly have the choice; this is aesthetics weíre talking about here, after all, not The Ten Commandments. In fact, I am so committed to this positive new relationship with Myself-As-Is that the naysayers might as well be on another planet. I honestly donít even notice them any more, my hand to God.

How did I do it? Long story, and yours is probably different. Letís just say I opened myself up to the possibility that not everything you read in the other glossy magazines is gospel, and took it from there.

And let me tell you, when I got here, started expressing that confidence, the gentlemen started lining up. Ater a deliciously exhaustive process of elimination, I have finally selected Mr. Right, and heís selected me. Here are some of his more carnal reasons:

1. He knows heís with a Woman. Those soft, round curves are such a contrast to his guy-ness.

I like his beard; he likes my tummy. To him, the perfection of womanliness is all those tender places to store estrogen. Think about it: most little girl babies have to wear those cute Velcro hair bows so we can tell them apart from their brothers. Sexual differentiation only really kicks in bigtime at puberty, when boys get fuzzy and muscular and girls get sweetly rounded. "Rounded" is therefore pre-programmed in the deep folds of the brain to mean "woman." In our case, more of one just naturally means more of the other.

2. Heís always secretly adored bountifully built women: now he gets to have one of his very own.

I wasnít the only one who struggled with the Vocal Majority assessment of fat females. He did too, and heís not alone. A preference for fat women is not, in my opinion, a fetish, but it sure gets treated like one. He spent years keeping quiet about his deep longing for a curvy sweetheart. Now Iím here, Iím his, and you should only see that smile!

3. I think my bodyís gorgeous, and for him, not having to walk on eggs about his admiration for it is such a relief.

Letís take a little story break here, just so you donít get the idea that Mr. Right is some sort of oddball. A friend of mine, a lovely, bountiful blonde, was once on one of those daytime talk show panels about being fat in a slim-obsessed society. Her sweetheart was in the audience. When the moderator asked him the inevitable dopey question, why he liked big women, his perfect answer was, "Good taste, I guess." It was a great response, and my girlfriend grinned.

This guy loves not having to go through the self-hatred scenes that other men with slim-to-average partners are forced to deal with. Lots of those poor pitiful fellows have to keep honest answers like "Yes! Yummy!" to themselves every time their wives ask if some outfit makes them look fat. So sad! And the good news for my honey is that he will be spared this nonsense as well.

4. All that lovely "natural collagen" gives me a forever-young appearance, and I can still use the smarts Iíve earned as Iíve gotten riper with age.

Itís true. I look a minimum of ten years younger than my chronology. The incipient wrinkies are naturally all filled in, you see. Neener, neener. (Oh, was that immature? Sorry. What the hell: neener again, Kate Moss, give yourself another ten years and youíll see just how brilliant starving yourself turned out to be.)

5. Making love results in me-earthquakes; he feels so powerful!

I wish I could see it. He says the quivering he produces across my entire torso when weíre in the midst of it is pretty dam exciting to a guy. Well, I can only agree with the Hemingway heroine who coined the concept of the earth moving. Again, weíve got the primordial male-female thing going, and it has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with S - E - X.

6. He finds bumps on the front of his T-shirts when I wear them. He likes that.

Isnít that a cute mental picture? Well, to be perfectly honest, itís not entirely accurate. Itís more his button-downs that wonít ever in a million years button over my hips, but you get the point.

7. A gal needs more than bones to properly fill out a silk nightie: Boobs! ĎNuf sed. Well, just a little more: Hips! Booty! Thighs! Calves!

Waifs in silk? I think not. Luxe is luxe, and unless you have something to strain against the fibers, you might as well get back into your flannel footies.

8. Iím never on a diet and am ready to enjoy anything he cooks.

That has to be the best deal to come out of the Sexual Revolution, if you ask me: men cooking for us. My baby makes a chili that will literally bring you to tears, and theoretically would be quite insulted if I stopped at a polite spoonful and asked him to bring out the salad. I say theoretically because why in hell would I pass up a chance at a hearty meal that I didnít have to slave over?

A word to the wise: cooks really like it when you dig in, and it makes them want to cook again tomorrow night when you do. You may never have to peel another chicken breast if you play your cards right. And lam not referring to Deal-A-Meal cards!

9. The endless variety of gorgeous fat bodies has made our off-the-rack fashion pragmatically stretchy, form fitting and sexy. For some reason, men seem to like this.

Ribs are for barbecue, my dears, not for catsuits and tee tops. When the other girls in the office are stuck with those mannish double-breasted blazers, anything we wear is going to be by definition double-breasted, if you catch my drift.

When I finally got the picture and started celebrating my body with Lycra, I was showered with compliments for the darndest parts, with honeyed phrases the poor little waifs will never, ever hear! As I mentioned earlier, Mr. Right is a tummy man. Just try and satisfy one of those guys with a Baywatch Girl!

10. Do I really have to say this? Big Beautiful Female = Mom to the Little Boy With in.

Sometimes a guy just needs to collapse into some soft, loving arms and hear that everything is going to be just fine. And when both people believe it, because the cuddle and the love are enveloping us both, chances are itís true. Ŗ

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