You really DO!

For something that is essentially just a bag to keep all your parts that shouldn't get dirty in, the human body certainly attracts more than its fair share of consternation, admiration and general attention.

So I thought that while the girly mags (as in, the ones designed for them, not the ones full of them) spend an inordinate amount of time showing impressionable girls of all ages how they need to be simultaneously curvy, thin, big-boobed, tall, short, clear skinned, natural, altered, young and old, I could present the opinion of a normal red-blooded bloke.

I couldn't find one to ask, so I'll tell you what I think.

The rush to try and achieve the perfect body as defined by the ladies weeklies has, I am afraid, led us to the start of a slippery slope that will deliver a race of orange, gaunt women with a constant look of surprise that see no value in the type of person they are, but only in the type of person they appear to be. Now, blokes may be partly to blame given the fascination with which we may have appeared to view documentaries such as Baywatch and Chances a few years ago. But please believe me, the thought of actually having to satisfy a woman like that probably strikes as much terror into the heart of the normal bloke as it does desire.

I think I can speak for most guys when I say that we have little desire to shag a bicycle. So it is with some dismay that I see so many poor young girls driving themselves to look like one, by trying to imitate the various assortments of wire frames, skeletal coat racks and skin-covered birdcages that are photographed trying to fill out a bikini on some celebrity ridden beach.

How are we supposed to cuddle you if we're afraid you'll stab us or we'll break you?

It doesn’t matter what you think of your weight, if you offer to take your clothes off in front of your man, he'll giggle, blush and forget how to go about normal life until you make good on the promise. And trust me; he can't see the bits that you hate, even when you point to them. To quote a good friend “You're his very own naked chick”. And as far as he’s concerned, you’re fuckin’ hot, especially nude.

Now keeping fit is a noble pursuit. There's probably very little doubt about the connection between eating healthy stuff and exercising and living longer. But hey, don't bust yourselves. I'm constantly amazed at the pressure some women put on themselves to “regain their pre-baby body” as quickly as possible. There was a big difference between your pre-baby body and your post-baby body. Your pre-baby body did not go through one of what I am convinced is the most gruelling physical assaults it is possible to survive. So please, give yourself a break, sit on the couch, in your trackies, with a bag of chips and put your feet up. You’ve bloody earned it.

Now it does please me somewhat that we are, as a nation, starting to realise that lying in the sun until we turn stop-sign red, only to wind up spending a day or two looking “fabulously tanned” and then have all our skin subsequently fall off is a dumb idea. Especially given there’s a good chance that it will kill you! So why, instead of becoming happy with our natural tone of a beautiful bluish-grey, did someone decree that the best colour to turn ourselves would be orange? Surely a spray on tan is akin to a paint job. Can someone please tell the people who apply it that they’ve buggered up the colour before anyone else has to hit the beach looking like they're the offspring of an oompa-loompa?

There is a desire amongst people to remain young. I can understand that from a “not wanting to shuffle the mortal coil” sense. But someone needs to disprove the link between looking young and being young. The only way to look young is to be young, and looking smooth is not a substitute. Injecting botulism into your face makes you look fucking scary, not youthful and vibrant. Furthermore, it limits you to two expressions; incredibly surprised, and incredibly surprised with bloody huge joker smile. Both of them enough to scare small children, and neither of them sexy.

Now your body is your temple - choose to celebrate in it as you will - but if you think you are chopping, punishing, starving and painting it in order to impress your average bloke (who let's be fair, would be unlikely to return the “favour”) then give yourself a break. Grab a wine, whip off your gear and join us on the couch. You're way hotter than we'll ever be, and we love you for it.

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