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VENUS OF WILLENDORF
by Magdalene Diva
 Here's the facts: 6 out of 10 women in America wear a size 12 or larger. So, why did I bristle at meeting new people as we approached a booth of my favorite bar with my best friend? Because she is (and this is at a January 1st weigh-in-- when everyone else in the Western world has put on 7 additional holiday pounds)-- barely a size 6. Don't get me wrong... I love her with all my heart. We met in the 4th grade and we've been like sisters ever since. But she is one bony bitch... and I am not. I was the only girl in the 5th grade who had to wear a bra. Granted, it was a measley A cup, but in the 5th grade, that equals some big-ass titties. And these big boobs have haunted me ever since. While the rest of America wants massive mammaries, I began the pregnancy of my child thinking that perhaps if I breastfed her, the "girls" might shrink down some and I could get outta a D cup. Yeh.... right. I now squeeze into a 38DD and that is only if the bra is forgiving and has some stretch to the lace. The only comfort I take is that my hips and butt even out my boobs-- that is, they allow me to withstand category 1 or 2 winds and avoid being blown over like Anderson Cooper-- and that Hubby seems to really appreciate the added effect to my already existing curves. Yeh... I know... he has so earned some serious points in the blowjob department for that.
So, I'm wearing a simple black stretch knit long sleeved tee tucked into jeans with a big chunky belt because, I've read that a big belt helps to take the focus off of your boobs and because I despise the way low rise jeans creep down and expose my butt crack and/or panties. I am modestly dressed, but my makeup is all dolled up, and I feel pretty good about myself because I also had the luck of having a good hair day, too. Best Friend, of course, looks amazing in her ultra-low rise jeans sans belt because she doesn't care if she exposes her tiny butt crack and there is no risk of the panties peeking out because her panties are approximately the size of a postage stamp. Her tiny little tee is slightly cropped and exposes a perfectly flat and tanned belly... yeh... I know.... that BITCH. But, I love her like a sister, so I ignore her sickening perfection and decide this will be a great night... even it kills me, and if that doesn't happen, I can always take solace in getting completely shitfaced and numb the pain.
 We say our hellos to a few acquaintances as we make our way thru the bar and we appraoch a booth that has 2 guys sitting in it. Best Friend spins around and announces that she wants me to meet them and that she just wants to discuss some things with the one guy in particular. The hair on my neck bristles. That double dealing bitch!... why didn't she let me know that she was going to introduce me to new people? Jesus, I would have spent more time getting ready. Maybe I would have fixed my hair differently?... it's just long and loose... maybe I look too causal and sloppy... and I'm expected to smile and meet these 2 guys? What was she thinking?? She knows the rules for Chrissakes. Fuck! "Hello... Nice to meet you.... My name is... Oh yes, she and I have been friends since we were little girls... Oh, you're an artist?... You paint and sculpt?"... other guy is just sitting with a scowl on his face... maybe he is disappointed in meeting me?... does he think I'm a big cow next to Miss Malibu Barbie?... I wonder how Baby Girl is?... I hope Hubby remembered to turn the Vivaldi Four Seasons CD on when he put her down to sleep, she'll cry forever if he didn't... "Yes, Best Friend's body is gorgeous... Yes, she would make a wonderful sculpture... Yes, she does work out and her arms are perfectly muscular"... I wonder if she has any of that loose skin at the back of her arm like I do?... probably not... that BITCH... "Yes, her legs are cellulite free"... sweet Jesus... can I get a fucking drink now?... how about a whole shitload of Wild Turkey shots?... anything to take the focus off my mammoth boobs, ass and hips... hey, is that that guy who tried to break into my car 2 yrs ago when I was here?... "Excuse me"... I know Mr Scowl on Face... I will have to swing my behemoth self over you as I crawl outta this suddenly too small booth... a fucking line to get drinks?... all I want is a rum and Coke, a shot of Wild Turkey, and what ever else Best Friend, Mr. Scowl on Face and Bob Ross w/out his white guy afro but with his happy little trees and size 6 girls must be sculpted self want to chug down... "Yeh, keep the change"... hey asshole, I tipped you, is it too much to expect a lime with my rum and Coke?... bartending school my ass... Yes Mr. Scowl on Face... the Big Girl is back... guess you'll just have to move over and allow me in, huh?... "Here's everyone's drinks"... yeh, don't choke on that Budweiser Mr. Scowl on Face.
 And then suddenly... before I can even sit down... THIS is said to me: "I've wanted to sculpt Best Friend for a while now, but I would LOVE to paint YOU." Takes both of my hands into his paint stained hands, stretches my arms out and looks me up and down, up and down, spins me around and puts his hands on my hips (Oh God... are my panties showing?... does he think my ass is the size of a Cleveland suburb?) and he lifts up my heavy red curls hanging down to the small of my back, spins me around to face him, he exhales hot breath laced with spearmint gum and exclaims: "You are a porcelain goddess. I would love to capture your gorgeous white skin. You could drape your long red hair over your curves (he raises his hands and catches himself just before he actually touches my boobs, and instead, makes the universal symbol for females... ya know,... a curvy Coke bottle that goes out wide comes in at the waist and then goes out wide again... his hands are just inches from my body... is that turpentine I smell?) and it would be so sexy. Don't worry-- none of your really private parts would be showing-- we'd cover those up with all of that hair you have." He turns to Best Friend: " Why didn't you tell me she was so gorgeous? My God-- she is lovely." I'm lovely? I'm gorgeous? He likes my curves? He wants to paint me? Me? Me? You're sure about that, right?... me? He called me a porcelain goddess! Goddess! I can't wait to tell Hubby... hey... oh shit... Best Friend looks pissed off... why is she pissed?... is she mad at ME?... WTF did I do? Oh well, she'll fight with me later, I'm sure. She'll rip me to shreds when we go into the ladies room together. Note to self: Must drink lots now to numb that coming fight.
Later in the car, after waaay too many shots of Wild Turkey and then for some unknown reason, shots of Fire Water... dear God... puking up cinnamon flavor is gonna hurt like a bitch in a few hours, especially if it comes out of my nose.... Best Friend quietly says to me as I'm turning into her driveway: "I wasn't mad at you. I just felt so stupid when Bob Ross w/out the white guy afro said he wanted to paint you. He only wants to make a sculpture of my body. He never said a word about my face. Only my body... but he said you were a goddess, for Chrissakes. I guess only my body is good enough for his art, huh?"
Son of a bitch! What a perfectly good buzz kill this is. Dammit... I don't want Best Friend to feel ugly because she's not ugly and dammit, she's right... he didn't say one word about her face... "Look, you're pretty, you know you are. I think you're pretty, I always have... So what if he didn't say you're gorgeous... Okay, okay... so what if he didn't say you were lovely, too... Look, you're gonna let Bob Ross w/out the white guy afro ruin your night?... I really have to pee... Can I run in and use your bathroom?... I won't wake him up... I have a baby... Do you think I don't know how to be quiet and creep around in a house?... I will not wake Boyfriend up!... I swear... Okay, just let me turn the car off and get my cell phone because if I'm gonna be awhile, I need to check in with Hubby... Donuts and coffee?.. Sure… alright, alright... lemme go pee and we'll go get 'em... Are you kidding me?...of course, I can always eat an angel cream donut. Oh my God!… Who cares?... you will burn it all off tomorrow at the gym"......... and mine will just convert into more padding for Hubby and Babygirl to rest upon when they need my goddess comforting.
Magdalene Diva can also be read at Fuzzy and Blue.
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