What's on my mind.

So here's the thing. There's been quite a lot of discussion about Oprah lately. And it's made me think quite a bit about my own situation (so NOT like Oprah) and what I think about being a woman in general.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting next to a female colleague in a meeting who was complaining about her butt getting flat. I think I smiled in a friendly and amused way, when she said, just wait - as you age, as soon as you stop working out for a week or two, your butt gets flat. Huh, I said - well, it certainly happened to me when I had the kids. Poof - kids came out, ass was like a pancake. It took months for it to come back.

And by the way, I said, regarding getting older, I'm pretty sure we're about the same age. I dunno, she said, looking at me, I look a lot younger than I actually am. I paused, looking at her, and she said, I'm 37. Me too, I said, I'll be 38 in September.

Huh, she said. I guess I look exactly the age I am.

So what did that mean? Did she think I looked way younger than I am? Did she think I looked way older than her?

Why is age and ageing so incredibly important? Why is it that arguably, other than the Queen, one of the most powerful women in the world can't just be one of the most powerful women in the world? She can't just be? It's as if sure, she's powerful, but she's not as worthy if she's not running marathons with rock hard abs.

What's so wrong with saying yep - I've got more money than the queen of England, and I'm rich enough for people to hand sew me lovely things in my size, and dammit, it's none of your business what I had for supper. Why is the size of her ass even an issue? What is it about us that makes thin and young more worthy of all other things?

Why does it take a part-time job to maintain weight?

I always say that it's because I'm too broke to buy new clothes, but really, if I think about it, it's vanity. It might be a little comfort - I hate having to hold my breath to paint my toes, but really, it's pretty much vanity.

It doesn't seem fair, either, that as my number gets closer to 40, this dorian grey painting gets harder and harder to hide in the closet. In September, as I've explained to Janey, my points drop by another one.

Because it's a lifestyle. Snort. One I've been doing for 15 years. I can't really think of where that food or lack thereof will come from. I bring my lunch. I stopped eating toast except for the weekend. My snacks in the afternoon mostly consist of tea and some fruit. Sure, I can get more food by exercising, but seriously. Read the blog. I'd pretty much sell my soul for a week of sleeping through the night. I don't really have the extra to work out all the time, you know?

Damn. It didn't used to be this hard. When Husband and I were dating, he would pick me up every Monday after my meeting and we went out for Chinese. And we ate out every meal on the weekends. It was like that. And I still maintained a weight 10 or 15 pounds down from here.

I often pick on Janey for being too mean to her. I mean, one pack of oatmeal for breakfast is concentration camp food. At least internment camp food.

It's not cool.

So why do we do it? Who's making us do this, if it's not us?

Why is it so important?

I'm mean to me because my stomach doesn't look like it did before two people lived in it. I recognize that's not entirely reasonable, but there we are.

So for those google searchers, I'm sorry. But really, aren't the three people who routinely see Katie Valentine naked enough? Especially since one of them (hint - not necessarily the one you'd expect) is so very fascinated with Katie's kitty hair?

Isn't it?