Perhaps it’s the new “in” thing. Maybe I’ve just been talking to a bunch of idiots. Perhaps I’m just on some other stuff. Hopefully I’ve been misinformed.

I’ve always carved out my own lane, never feeling pressure to fit into a particular mold, stereo-type or anything else of the sorts. Self-approved, my parents taught me early on to take pride in all I do without regards to whether my efforts were appreciated by others. Perhaps it was their way of grooming me for a true “Forget what the haters have to say”-attitude. You love it? COOL. You hate it? THAT’S COOL TOO. As long as I have my mothers and grandmothers approval, everybody else’s is a bonus. I’m off topic.

Besides revealing the MANY perverts I’m friends with on Facebook, the Q&A game I played a couple days ago further cemented the truthfulness to this demeaning stereotype I’ve heard whispers of over the last several years. “Big girls are easier than the staples button” he responded. GASP. ARE YOU SERIOUS??? Instant attitude, I immediately went on the defensive. Granted, I shouldn’t act as if I have the whole plus size community on my back. I don’t define myself by my size. I don’t think all skinny chicks are evil. I don’t endorse being plus size. I promote embracing your figure, no matter what size you are. And while I won’t be screaming “FAT GIRLS ROCK” anytime soon, I can’t possibly ignore the obvious ignorance expressed by this CLOWN via my inbox.

EVERYONE that I’ve spent an extended period of time with has called me picky at one point or another. But in no other area does my selective nature reign supreme than when it comes to who I allow to penetrate my pleasure portal. Deep-sea diving ISN’T just for those that can fit into the scuba gear. YOU THOUGHT OTHERWISE? :-/

Working in health care has turned me into a hypochondriac. I’ve seen people suffer and die from HIV. I have a close friend that has to deal with reoccurring pimples on her “love below” due to a lapse in judgment. I don’t have to stick a kerosene-soaked hand in the fire to know I won’t enjoy being engulfed in flames. My concern is a permanent inconvenience to my life. I don’t even want a temporary nuisance that goes away with a pill or two. And you think I won’t let you “smash” because I don’t want you to see a roll or stretch mark? HA! I started to feel like the exchange was an insult to my intelligence. Grandma told me it doesn’t pay to argue with fools.

Perhaps it’s the new “in” thing. Maybe I’ve just been talking to a bunch of idiots. Perhaps I’m just on some other stuff. Hopefully I’ve been misinformed. Either way, let this serve as a candle that sheds light on the many preconceived notions that surround curvy girls and how we relinquish pleasure portal passage passes. ACCESS DENIED.


Brooklyn Cashmere

Curvy Fashionista. Blogger. In-house wardrobe stylist at House of Curves Modeling Agency. New York mentally, Detroit physically. Student. Legal Hustler. Sister. Aunt. Daughter. Lover. Silly. Motivated. Focused.

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