That's Sweet...But I'd Like A Man My Own Age Please.

On my lunch break today I had a few errands to run. One of which was getting some links removed from my new watch. There’s a place just round the corner from work, and the middle aged Scotsman working in there was more than happy to deal with my request.

When he asked me how many links I needed removing, I told him three, to which he exclaimed “My, what wee dainty wrists you have!” I resisted the urge to follow this up with “all the better to wear watches with grandma” and simply agreed, adding that it was a shame the rest of me hadn’t followed suit.

Now I should know better than to “think” out loud like this. People either think you’re a bitter chubby girl (you know the sort, with an annoying chip on her shoulder...that she if she could just reach it, would make a satisfying mid morning snack) or they think you’re fishing for compliments. I’m neither. You know how people say, inside every fat person there’s a skinny person screaming to get out? They’re right...but it’s usually because we’ve just eaten one.

I’m aware that I’m on the plump side, but I’m not disgusted with myself, and I know that I’m not completely unfortunate looking, so I need neither false compliments, nor the judgement that I’m chunky because I have low self esteem.

So why do I make these comments? Well I think it’s because I have the complete opposite form of body dysmorphia to anorexics. They look at themselves and see huge people, when in fact they’re literally just skin and bones. I look in the mirror and see a normal sized girl. The comments I make are to remind myself that despite what I see, I am in fact chunkier than I realise, and they’re mainly to spare me the bumps and bruises I gain from misjudging the proximity of my arse to table corners and door frames as a result of forgetting that it is in fact bigger than I think it is. It's a sort of, internal reality check mechanism.

Unfortunately making this comment within earshot of Mr McFixawatch opened the door to what was, quite frankly, one of the most awkward conversations of my life to date. Just as I’d said it, the shop suddenly filled very quickly with customers wanting keys cut and shoes re-heeled. Mr McFixawatch, oblivious to the gathering crowd proceeded to tell me in his booming old man voice;

“Och no lassy! Don’t ye go wishing away those wonderful curves ye got there! Not all of us are looking for a wee beanpole in the bedroom. Nay, some of us want a buxom lass...In fact - In the 16th century you’d have been considered fashionable ye would!”

Now quite frankly, in my mind, all a man of his age should want in the bedroom is a copy of Readers Digest, a mug of Horlicks and a glass on the bedside table for his false teeth...and whilst I’m convinced he was old enough to remember the 16th Century, I certainly don’t remember asking him for his opinion.

If the ground could have opened up and swallowed me I’d have been eternally grateful...But he was right about one thing. Not all men are looking for skinny girls. It seems middle aged watch repairers will give anything a go...as long as it’s got dainty wrists.