Bring Bottecelli Back!

My scales await me every morning singing their siren dirge. They pull me towards the linen closet, and I move them out for my moment of accountability.

I step onto the scales tentatively, trying to balance my feet towards the back of the surface which will eliminate a couple of pounds. Sometimes I lean too far back and the scales tip up and throw me off like a horse in the rodeo.

The numbers blink once, twice, three times before revealing the actual weight. Those numbers can determine whether I eat a bagel from McDonald’s or granola that is the equivalent of horse feed.

Some mornings, when the scales laugh out loud, I yearn for the artist Sondro Bottecelli. You know him – he painted The Birth of Venus and other classic works of art, and the women in his paintings are voluptuous. They don’t care about scales — they just lounge large, proud of their rolls and folds.

Can you imagine Bottecelli trying to paint women today? He’d certainly need smaller paint brushes with thinner strokes and an understanding of how to add protruding rib cages. A model today lounging naked wouldn’t belong in a Bottecelli painting. She would belong in an anatomy class hanging from a metal pole.

Okay, if you’re naturally thin then you’re angry right now. But, if you’re naturally thin most of us don’t really care about your opinion. Most of us are fighting the battle of the bulge, and we want Bottecelli back.

Where have you gone, Bottecelli? A Real Dame turns its lonely eyes to you. Ooh ooh ooh. What’s that you say, Glamour Magazine? Bottecelli’s left and gone away? Hey hey hey. Hey hey hey.

If you aren’t familiar with Simon and Garfunkel the previous paragraph is really confusing. Oh well, Bottecelli’s gone and my scales await. Perhaps, this weekend, I’ll leave the scales in the closet in honor of the artist. I will put on a t-shirt that says “Bottecelli Loves Big Babes!” and lounge large and proud.

Join me, won’t you?