So lets talk about Meghan Trainor… (but if you don’t want to read my rant there’s a funny story at the end)

So I’ll be the first to admit I love “All About the Bass” with every fibre of my, often pretty shameful, taste in music. It’s upbeat, it’s funny and sassy and if I wake up feeling hideous it always puts me in a better mood. I recently sang a version behind the fish counter at work including the line “I’m all about the bass, the sea bass, no turbot” which was pretty horrendous but yeah I love this song. However, Trainor has been criticised by many for supposedly “skinny shaming” and “basing her self worth on the opinions of men” after singing about boys liking a bit more booty to hold at night. When I hear that lyric I didn’t immediately imagine people having sex, I imagined a couple being asleep but with the guy just holding this woman’s arse all night which is weird and he should stop.

Okay sure, I see the point people are making but in interviews Trainor simply laughs off these comments as she explains that she wrote a song and made some funny, clever lyrics, its how she makes money give the girl a break (such as the bit where she goes “na I’m just playing”- you know, the bit in the song where she explains that calling people skinny bitches was a joke, because it was) but okay if she wrote it she gets all the grief for it right?

Wrong.

I myself find that if I mention that I like the song to people I occasionally get a rant about how I’m encouraging skinny shaming, I’m not, I’m listening to a song. I love skinny people, all my friends are skinny, they are also all bitches, skinny bitches! It’s like Robin Thicke all over again, instead of just the artist getting bashed for writing controversial lyrics, people who enjoy the song for the catchy tune, or for memories it brings back or whatever reason, get slated as well.

So my point here is this, if people like a certain song there’s no need to assume they like it because they agree wholeheartedly with every word of the song and so there’s no need to lay into them for it. For example, I quite like the song “I wanna have your babies” by Natasha Bedingfield (remember her?) but this doesn’t mean I’m desperate for Johnny to pop a bun in the oven. Oooh that reminds me funny story…

if you don’t want to read my over sharing or you are my mother please stop reading now 🙂

So basically there was a small concern that maybe I was pregnant, like teeny tiny concern I was probably just being melodramatic I’m on the pill so yeah complete overreaction. So I dutifully sent Johnny out to buy a pregnancy test, a Waitrose essentials one no less because I am a classy individual. So I was there reading away and it says to remove the cap, hold the thumb grip and wee on the absorbent strip. So instead of looking at the picture I looked at the midstream (that’s what they’re called, that caused great confusion when I thought it meant you could only wee on it mid-stream- so there was a lot of clenching) and saw a fabric bit on one end. Great that must be the absorbent strip. So I took the lid off and went about my business then put the cap back on (confused as to why as I’d just weed on the other end) and then I waited…

“Oh bloody essentials range doesn’t even work not getting any reading I’m going to have a child nooooo” was pretty much my response… So then I looked at the picture. Turns out the fabric patch is the thumb grip. who knew eh? So there was Johnny desperate to know if he needed to start looking for a better job to support Johnny Jr and I had to admit that I am too stupid to realise you wee on the bit with a cap on…

(did another one an hour later and there are no buns in the oven, panic over)

 

The phaaaaaantom of the bathroom scales…

Dear reader,

I come to you with a problem I have had all my life. A problem which I hope other people share but when asking my peers nobody else seems to have a clue what I’m talking about. Picture the situation, your horrible doctor (not that I’m bitter) tells you you need to shed some pounds and so dutifully you give up the things you hold dear in life such as wine, and wine. And you hear from your friends that you’ve lost weight and you feel your jeans are slightly looser (or maybe they just need washing) and you go to your doctors appointment thinking “yeah I’ll show her, I’m hot stuff now” and you stride onto the scales (after removing your shoes, belt, scarf and even shirt this time I kid you not in an attempt to show her that I owe some of my weight to my, frankly cracking, breasts)

Only to discover you have lost nothing but your dignity in getting your rack out.

And it then dawned on me that, whilst in appearance I’ve lost weight from time to time, in actual hard numbers on a set of scales I’ve only ever gained or stayed at a constant. Now I know I’m not as chubby as I have been before but the figures say otherwise and I certainly haven’t got any taller (I hit 5″7 when I was 13 and thats where I stopped whilst everyone over took me). So my question is this- where does the weight hide? I’ve heard of having the weight of the world on your shoulders but this is ridiculous. Does my emotional baggage climb up onto the scales with me, only to gain a pound or so everytime I have a bad day? Unfair.

So this is the new theory. I’m being haunted. By a very spiteful ghost who in a past life battled with her weight (of course its a woman we’re all secret bitches at heart) and so every time I get on the scales she pops her foot on too just to mess with the weight. I also think she has posessive powers because sometimes I return from the fridge with all sorts of goodies and I can’t be doing that consciously.

On a sidenote I found this online, I don’t know who it is but they win my favourite halloween costume ever.