This is what greets me in the locker room this morning at the gym.
On good days I can laugh at the silliness of all these periodicals. Who could ever take it seriously, right? It’s outrageous what they think we’ll fall for? Right? Right?!?!?
But on days like today, I just get royally peeved. Please remember that I grew up in Zimbabwe, which is a former British colony, so peeved is fairly serious.
What is this piece of journalistic garbage doing in a supposed place of health and fitness? As if the wall-to-wall mirrors and Katy Perry blaring “I kissed a Girl”were not enough to endure, must I also be reminded that I do not have J.Lo’s photo-shopped posterior?
I will never, ever, have J.Lo’s dancer rear-end, and might I say I would look somewhat comical if I did?
Here are a few reasons why.
1. I come from Norwegian descent. This gives me a genetic propensity to developing melanoma cancer, but not necessarily having an attractive bum. Having some junk in the trunk is apparently not an important DNA requirement for Scandinavian fisher-folk.
2. I am not a professional singer/dancer/actress and thankfully do not earn any wage as a result of my image or any singing and dancing talent, which is nil. I also don’t employ a staff consisting of a full-time trainer, aesthetician, chef, stylist, nanny, personal assistant, and magazine editor who work tirelessly to ensure I continue to make money and sell lots of magazines. To us.
3. I am an average mom of four, who, as she writes this still has not showered six hours after her workout and can actually smell herself. If I am lucky, I can find an hour to run some miles on the treadmill a few times a week or squeeze in some yoga. I am my family’s sole chef, nutritionist, personal shopper, homework editor, counselor, tutor, nurse and housekeeper. We are looking for a full-time stylist, if anyone knows of someone?
Seems none of my daily tasks seem to require a high, firm butt, but I might be missing something.
Let’s not be dumb or numb, beautiful women.
Get peeved with me! Don’t give attaining someone else’s rear end two seconds of your time, or one teeny blip of your attention. Throw that crap (sorry grandma, but that’s what it is…it belongs in the toilet) in the trash with a snort, if not for your own sanity, then for the tender souls of our daughters and those who follow behind.
Peace and discernment to you this Wednesday,