There has to be a more pleasant thing to do than shop for skinny clothes. If I were twelve years old, I would enjoy the prospect of finding the perfect hot pink skirt skinnier than a number two pencil. Since hot pink clashes with wrinkles and bulges, I will opt for a more rounded look. Everywhere you look, it is skinny this and skinny that!  Believe me, there is nothing more disgusting than to look at a skinny, thin as a rail, haven’t eaten in a month of Sundays, models’ eyes.  The eyeballs are sunk so far back into the skull you can barely see the whites of the eyes, and their collar bone juts out so far, you can’t determine if you are looking at their front or back.  Some of them, I tell you, could turn sideways, stick out their tongue and take on the appearance of a six-foot zipper.

           What’s even more disgusting is to stand near a model and watch as she peers into a full-length mirror preening her finely tuned image.  My reflection is what nightmares are made of; blobs oozing in all directions trying to find a place to drop.  Her image disappears when I blink!  Geesh, where did she go? Blink!  I missed her again. Then my ears hone in on her directing the saleslady; size two will do just fine.  Good grief! A size two would barely cover my big toe. I think to myself; better get out of here, go to the camping equipment and find a tent. Then I think when a model smiles, all you can see are teeth. Pearly white, perfectly formed, all lined up in a row; no gaps or crooked teeth to be found.  Some of them, I swear, must use a wide pronged device to hold their mouths open while smiling.  How else would you be able to see all the back molars glistening in the sunlight?  Beats me how they can smile through all that hunger. I seriously think they know nothing about bruxism and if they do, only their dentist knows for sure. One of these days, I will awaken to find my teeth completely void of enamel. They will have been ground to the nub from gritting and chewing in my sleep.  Don’t have a clue as to what causes chewing while sleeping, other than a desire to eat what I want and wind up as a size two.  That will never happen, because I like to sit around and chew the fat with myself.

           Mind you, there is nothing wrong with being slim. In fact, slim is quite wonderful and becoming.  There is a skinny person inside me trying to get out but the fat person keeps whacking her with a roll of French bread. No wonder the size two hides; it is being smothered by butter and choked to death by garlic! No, it is not just the word slim. It is all the other things: perfect skin, lush thick hair, great teeth and fingernails long enough to puncture a radial tire.         Get a grip here! No one should have all of those things adhering to a single body.

          Just once, I would love to see a model with a zit on the tip of her nose; the kind of zit that cannot be covered with “no flaw” make-up or touted as a beauty mark of nature.  Wimpy hair is not an option, nor is a bad hair day. Tresses are neatly coifed close to the scalp or tossed like a raging lioness giving the appearance of a seductress.  If that happened to me, they would have to commit me.

           Advertisements for shampoo and hair conditioners are touted as the overnight beauty profiler.  I have tried some of those concoctions and wound up looking like the “Hulk” in a green dye factory. Trying to cover up your hair after using a shampoo called ‘Hair-de-fallout’ or a conditioner with lard called ‘Slicker-than-bacon-fat’, there is no way you can keep from glowing in the dark.  At night, all you have to do is twist your ears, tweak your nose and you will shine like a flashlight. An item from the Stone Age, aptly identified as a headscarf will not help disguise the fact, that your head is as smooth as a billiard ball.

           Have you seen a model’s fingernails?  Some of them are longer than cat whiskers, polished with a reflective cover so bright, that you could swear you were hit with a floodlight.  I used to wonder how they managed to keep them so long but soon discovered the answer.  Models do not dig around in dirt searching for lost marbles, probe in a window sill groove looking for a straight pin or reach inside air-conditioning floor vents in an endeavor to retrieve model airplane parts.

           Perhaps in the future, we will be able to see a model that is plump, at least of normal height, one that does not mind a few zits, wears a wig, chews her fingernails and advertises a pepperoni pizza. Look out world; we normal women are coming through!