|At the Still Point of the Turning World|
Saturday, October 11, 2003
You know, I'm very close to my mother. We talk on the phone several times a week. She knows the intimate details of my life, and still supplies me with groceries when I come to visit. When I attend fiber events, she is frequently my companion--in fact, she'll be holding down the fort in Traverse City with her faithful white Peke, Mo, while I'm attending SOAR. And yet, despite all this filial respect, there is one thing I can't stand about her:
She's THIN. We're talking Stick Insect, here.
I, on the other hand, take after some unknown ancestor who must have been petite and, er, sturdy. Add to this genetic tendency the caloric burden of medical training, and what you've got is one--ah--ROBUST and FABULOUS woman. That's right.
None of this bothers me all that much. I think American culture has become completely body-obsessed, and the current thinification of the female body ideal distresses me. Certainly, I could afford to lose a few pounds, but I am not morbidly obese and I do not link my self-esteem to my waist measurement. I tossed that nonsense out with the tight shoes I wore in my twenties, thank you very much.
But this is too much:
Here's mom wearing the VCD cardigan and looking much better than I do in it! The first time I put it on, I thought: Hm. Well, it'll fit someone.
Oh well. At least I put her to work as a model. Here she is showing the color sequence on the back of the garment.
Here's my latest line of reasoning: the roll of extra flesh, located just south of my belly button and affectionately known as The Podge, is actually a repository of extra creativity cells. That's right, that's it exactly. So if I were to lose The Podge, I'd be back to buying off-the-rack and reading nothing but books on Oprah's list.
Hey, I'm know about anatomy. I'm a doctor.