It’s been a funny week for fat in the Defining Moves household. My only explanation is that St Valentine is working his magic early this year, and rebranding adipose tissue into a variety of more desirable terms.
It started with a shopping trip with the Other Half. The idea that men can walk into a store, immediately buy what is needed and walk out would have merit if concepts like changing seasons, fashion and new designs weren’t a feature of the clothing industry. Instead, there we were, surrounded by a sea of khaki, none of which was acceptable because it wasn’t identical to the previous pair now hanging ragged and unwearable in the closet.
After considerable amounts of persuasion, he did deign to try on a pair, but his expression on return was a mixture of disgust, mutiny and ‘I told you so’. Apparently, the legwear was substandard, as it came “nowhere near my calves OR my thighs”. His self-righteous response to my badly suppressed sniggers?
“It’s because I have MUSCLES!!”
Ah. So that’s what we’re calling it now?
The good news is that this generosity of spirit towards the jiggly bits is not limited to the males of the species. Take the Wiggy One, for instance. As many of you know, we have a new puppy, and while she looks adorably cute from the front, this angle belies the disproportionate size of her rear end. She appears to have the front quarters of a Jack Russell terrier, and the backside of a bulldog. It’s mesmerizing.
So much so, that at one point this week, the children and I, in a rare moment of family harmony, were gathered around behind her seated form. After a few minutes of silent gazing, I was forced to comment.
“That dog has the most enormous arse. It’s like all her fat has slithered downwards to her hips”
The Wiggy One surveyed her form critically for a few moments, before replying in a manner that will stand him in excellent stead for the future;
“I don’t think she’s fat, I think it’s just water weight.”
He’ll go far.