I love opening my routine with a nice “yes I’m fat and aware of it and loving it: type of gag. And the audience laugh with me as we celebrate my mass. But the truth is, I lie. It’s probably the only time I lie about myself on stage. I find my body a tad cumbersome at times. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be a size 32, I don’t want my family secretly preparing for my funeral and guessing when it is I contracted the disease. No, I want to be a healthy 34, like I was before. I was curvy, yes, but compact. Now I feel like my body bilges in places at will, and it’s driving me nuts!

So, I’m probably going to start doing something about it for two weeks and give up with some wonderful excuse like the baby or my bad knee. In fact, lately i’ve taken to blaming my yet to be conceived baby for my laziness to do something about my weight: what’s the point of losing weight that I’ll gain right back with the next sprog, due in the next couple of years? I never insult the skinny women, because lets be honest, the audience will intelligently deduce that the lady doth protest too much. I love seeing those chicks (no, not in any homo-erotic way, although have you seen Jessica Alba-) in their little shorts and cute skirts, or in skinny jeans and a tightish top- I used to be able to dress that way and i was not skinny – just – voluptuous. I know childbirth has done some damage, but dammit I want to be a milf (Mom I’d Like To F***) too. I first encountered that term on some American teen movie and have since thought yeah, that’s hot.

I want to fall outside the comedy stereotype of the funny fat female comic. At least I’m not butch, but I wanna take it further. I want to feel as though this fat isn’t the only non-threatening thing about me when I’m on stage. I am comfortable in my skin, that may be part of the reason I haven’t lost weight, but it’s getting to a point where even that comfort is waning, and I’m avoiding the mirror more and more.  And it totally is a health thing! I want sex marathons and easy jogs up the stairs and energy and a glowing skin, and sitting at my laptop, typing blogs while munching on Ouma rusks and coffee isn’t going to get me there. Tae Bo and Dance dvd’s are collecting dust, the bike is just chilling there and I walk past them everyday with the promise of a session soon. I’m too darn lazy…blame it on the thyroid maybe?

As for the food  – Never ask me to eat anything bland because I won’t. I don’t fry anything, I almost never use sugar so WTF? Last time I took diet pills I ended up in hospital malnourished and tired. So…way forward comrade?

Don’t know. I guess I’ll go dancing and replace the alcohol with copious amounts of water, and park a bit far from the entrance at malls. Maybe eveb start shopping for my shape, rather than just looking at size. but fat isn’t phat, I don’t care what the fat girls tell ya. We just want to feel better about ourselves. Truth be told though, i’ve seen men look at a chunky woman and look famished, like a hungry man with a plate place in front of him. What I’ve picked up when they see our skinny counterparts is a look of interest, as though they wonder how many ways they could bend her. I reckon I can live with the chunkiness for now, while I can still laugh about it, but not for long.