A few moments ago I was having a scroll through instagram, embracing a little downtime after doing a metric tonne of laundry and ironing a bundle of things too. As I sat down for a little break in the early evening sunshine, my notifications popped up. As I clicked through, I spotted that a comment had been left on the picture above. The picture's over a month old, which is why I think I even noticed - most of my recent notifications have been on the slew of pretty Italian scenes I've been sharing. Man, Italy is gorgeous.
Before I continue with the tale, a little aside on the image above.
I happen to love the picture, not because I look good, or it's especially clever, or even a great insta-shot. I look a bit mad, to be fair - I'd been up since 4.45am to get on the Eurostar, my hair is clearly having a moment, I'm grinning like a loon and the Arc de Triomphe shot I was aiming for has just been obscured by a van. However, I also look happy...because I was. And because I am.
So back to the comment. The comment left, coincidentally, by someone who had followed and then promptly found a selfie to leave his oh-so-special and important tuppence worth of opinion on. The comment? Fattie Fattie Fattie Oi Oi Oi.
I mean. What critique. What wit. What a way to get straight to the point and present me with some brand new information. Because obviously, being the size and weight I am, this fact had never been brought to my attention. I mean, when you're larger than the average/ fat/ obese/ plump/ voluptuous (pick your flavour - I've been called them all and I am them all) heaven knows this is never pointed out to you! The culture and time we live in never objectifies people, let alone women.









