jemima jones
God, I wish I were thin.
I wish I were thin, gorgeous, and could get any man I want. You probably think I'm crazy, I mean here I am, sitting at work on my own with a massive double-decker club sandwich in front of me, but I'm allowed to dream aren't I?
I have a few favourites. In the top drawer of my chest of drawers in my bedroom at home is a stack of cut out pictures of my top super models, preferred poses. Linda Evangelista's there for her sex appeal, Christy Turlington's there for her lips and nose, and Cindy Crawford's there for the body.
And before you think I'm some kind of closet lesbian, I've already told you the one thing I would wish for if I rubbed a lamp and a gorgeous, bare-chested genie suddenly appeared. If I had one wish in all the world I wouldn't wish to win the lottery. Nor would I wish for true love. No, if I had one wish I would wish to have a model's figure, probably Cindy Crawford', and I would extend the wish into having and keeping a model's figure, no matter what I eat.
I lie there and spin out an elaborate fantasy about what I would wear if I were thin. I would have my hair cut into a super trendy shaggy style, and perhaps, if I dared, would have a few blonde highlights, just at the front.
I would wear sunglasses a lot of the time. Occasionally they would be big Hollywood film-star tortoiseshell ones, but the rest of the time they would be cool, smart little round glasses, glasses that spelt sophistication, glamour.
I would wear tight cream trousers, lycra crop tops, and the bits of flesh exposed would be taut and tanned. I would, I decide, even look fantastic in a bathrobe. I look at my old white bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, huge, voluminous. I love wrapping it around myself for comfort, trying desperately to ignore the fact that I resemble a balloon with legs.
But when I'm slim I'll keep that bathrobe. It will, being a man's bathrobe, gather in folds of fabric around my athletic new body. The sleeves will hang down, obscuring my hands, and I will look cute and vulnerable.
Even first thing in the morning I will look gorgeous. With no make-up and tousled hair, I imagine meeting Mr Perfect, and curling up in an armchair with my long, glowing legs, my bony knees, and naturally he will be head over heels in love with me.
(from Jane Green novel, Jemima Jones)
posted by kacangbuncis @ 7:36 AM
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