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Skinny Chicks Can Be Flabby Too…

I’ve told the story of the hotel trade show I was at when two teenage girls (in itty-bitty bikinis without an ounce of cellulite, mind you) walked by the poster of me in my bra and undies in the SexCies “before” picture.

“EEEEWWWW!” one exclaimed, “that is freakin’ GROSS!!!”

“Yeah,” the other one giggled, “shoot me if my stomach ever looks like THAT! That is DISGUSTING!”

They were talking about me.

MY tummy.

I was in a room full of women who all heard it, and they looked at me with pity while I tried to smile with a quivering lip. “It’s okay,” I assured them,  hoping my beet red face would fade, “that is the exact reason I created my product, SexCies, ‘Shapewear for the Bedroom’ lingerie,” (shameless self-promotion, now here is me using this as a “teachable” moment),”..because if a female could be that critical of another, why wouldn’t we be self-conscious around males?!”

They didn’t buy it (I think my tear-filled eyes gave me away) and tried to soften the blow, “OH, psshaw…don’t listen to them..you look great!” and “I’d KILL to have your frame” and the one that stuck in my mind most, “You shouldn’t feel badly; at least you’re skinny!”

Skinny. I always hated that word. I never got, “Slender” or “Sleek” or “Statuesque”. At over 5′ 9″ (which I have been since age 12), and 132 lbs (I am usually 140, but stress is a great diet, I’ve found), I do have what I guess is a lanky frame;  long legs that require a 34″ inseamed pant, lengthy arms, skinny wrists that bracelets fall off of, and stringy fingers**.


We “skinny” chicks get a good amount of envy, but most of us are hiding a secret; we ain’t “skinny” all over.

I remember in high-school being so envious of the soccer-playing girls; size 12/14  rock-stars who were smooth all over. They didn’t have to wear baby-doll tops or wrap their tummies in ace-bandages..they could rock a A-tank and have the boys salivating.

There comes a day when it gets harder to hide. “Oh, my Gosh, congratulations,” acquaintances would gush, pointing to my midsection, “what are you, about two or three months along?” Or one of my favorites: showing up to model in a fashion show and having to have three fitters try to squeeze me into a sample size, busting buttons and trying to find “creative” ways to not have my pooch ruin the line of the clothes (“Who booked her?”).

I reflected in this today as I squeezed myself into my daily shapewear, the garment I love so much for making all my skinniness look “uniform” (not an affiliate of “Wink”, just a fan). I wondered if other skinny chicks like me had the same wish; to be two sizes bigger and naturally rippleless all over. Huh.

I seems the grass is always smoother on the other side.

 **My friend who is reading over my shoulder just smacked me and reminded me about my 36 DDs, and I smacked her right back to remind her how strong the underwire needs to be to hold these suckers up…


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