Aussie girls don’t know how to whisper.  I rated a “she has no arse” comment, while others were less fortunate. Way less fortunate. It is pensioner day, so you can imagine the awful things they said about 80 year old bags and any hag over 35 wearing a low cut top. Besides their overt nastiness, it occured to me 14 year old girls talk about body image the way 15 year old boys brag about the girls they’ve boinked (as if!).

Call it my advanced age (Thanks again for that, KS), but it was the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever listened to.  Back in my day (I know you love that too, KS), the discussion was about who liked whom, who was thinking about being felt up, and who had dirty knees. When did it become all about body image?  

I think I’m lucky. I have embraced my body as it is. All right I’m nearly there. Honestly. I like me. Not too fond of the nose, and wish I had a longer, more slender fingers, but that’s a wish, not a goal. I’m not after the unattainable. I know my limits. I have role models. I know my butt is in the realm of Faye Dunaway and Barbara Stanwyck– no one’s ever going to say I’m all bootylicious –and I’m OK with that. Faye and Babs are wonderful role models from a time when looking like someone unique was something special. 

These three girls looked like each other, or as much like one another as they could. Actually they looked like they were trying to look like two ro three certain celebrities. In my book (not the one I’m writing, the proverbial one) there outta be a plethora of unique role model body types to choose from and emulate. Why do you want to look like Paris/Nicole/Jessica? How about a little orignality?  A little mystery? A little you, not someone else. 

Again, it’s the sense that different is not good.  Conform. Conform. Conform. One day we’ll all serve the collective. We’re doomed.

Then again, maybe all us no-arses will unite to beat down our wannabe clones.