I want to try a dress on without looking like a whale
And ending up with half a tent, left over from a sale,
I want to pull the plug out and have all the water drain
Not sit with half the bath behind until I move again,
I want to sit on seats with arms that do not cuddle me
And climb the stairs arriving fresh, not gasping desperately,
I want to work out at the gym in something sleek and tight,
Not hidden in a baggy shirt and still looking a sight.
I want the slimming pills they gave to speed me through the day
Not end up making me just tired and looking the same way,
I want that nice attractive man to look and think I'm nice
Not see me as just 'motherly' and ask for my advice.
Why is it me that sees a chip and puts on half a pound
When others stuff their faces and still never end up round?
I wonder what it's like for once to walk into the sea
Not drop my wrap, right at the edge and run in desperately.
The problem is, if by some chance, I one day wake up thin
WHERE WILL I PUT THOSE YARDS AND YARDS OF EXTRA EMPTY SKIN?
Annette Keeble Martens.