My Normal Life

Something Stuck In My Head

I am not afraid to admit that I have a big mouth. When something is on my mind, then I make a point to tell the whole world about it. If I am aggravated about a new subject, which does tend to happen frequently, I have to tell everyone in some way. So, how would I have any secret thoughts? Where would they be? I know that I am so ready to give up on my daily job searching. I search, page after page, sending in each individual resume or taking my time to fill out another application that is so very much the same as the last four I had just completed. Then I complain about it on my Facepage. Or perhaps my nose is back to the ground and I am on the hunt again for my other half on my dating site that I am the Give Up Line with. So I then, again, gripe about this to the world. So, where are these secrets that I supposedly have? Where is my deep, black hole? I’m sure I keep the mouth shut at times.

And I do. When I look in the mirror every day, my eyes immediately go down to my hips, which I hate. I hate my hips. There, now the whole world knows. I may shake them with pride during any big, booty girl song, but I really wish I did not have them. We all have a piece on our bodies that we want, to one day, just be gone. But, when I have a long family line of many ladies with these beauties, I know mine is not going anywhere. Thanks mom. I would rather have what my dad doesn’t have; no butt.

Then I begin to examine the extra skin that dangles from my arms. I believe I do get this from my dad’s side. Awesome. This excess skin is one of the main reasons that I prefer sweaters versus t-shirts. I do love sweaters, but they do help to cover these massive arms that I always hate to be viewed by anyone. To me, I am being judged the moment I walk into everywhere. No person could make a point that they notice me, but to me, they have and a rating system is already spinning around in their head. They immediately see my massive hips. Then they begin to examine my big bootay. Their eyes then start to wander down to my fat, fat thighs. I know that if I had chosen a t-shirt for that day, they would start to analyze why the triceps portion of my arms seems to take of so much space on me. This all is in my mind as I am getting ready for the day, which makes me take so much longer to choose what I will be wearing.

But then, I begin to look in the mirror. I know that I not a tiny person. I will never be a tiny person. My arms and thighs and hips will probably always be with me, big, maybe a little smaller someday. Yet, I am proud when a person says that they like big butts and they cannot lie and I just shake it along like I just don’t care.



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