ANTM Winner a Fatty

So the winner of ANTM cycle 10 was Whitney. In the fashion industry she's a plus-size model. On the street she's probably thinner than most.

There's a store in Westfield called Big City Chic that stocks clothes for erm, fuller-figured girls. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is the purpose of its existence not to provide clothes for women whose physiques will not permit them to fit the standard size range? So why is the model on their posters a size 10? She might be sneered at in a Oxford St boutique, but she'll still be swallowed whole by a size 14 dress.

People in the fashion industry have a warped interpretation of physical size. Someone needs to show them what fat is. The man I couldn't push a trolley past in the supermarket because he took up three quarters of the isle. The woman who tried to sit beside me in a two-seater on the train and couldn't, even when I flattened myself against the wall so that another two of my friends could have shared my seat comfortably. Manuel Uribe Garza. Even without going to these extremes, the average girl in the Krispy Kreme queue is bigger than BCC girl or Whitney.

I can see this is going to turn into a fat-bashing. I'll stop. After eating God-knows-how-many squares of Cadbury crème brûlée today I'm joining the fatties soon.

I had an appointment with the dentist at 9:30 this morning. Partly due to trackwork and mostly due to sleeping in, I missed it. I was secretly happy to be excused from the saline rinse, the metal tools, the suction and not to mention the fluoride gel at the end. Whoever told me it tasted like strawberries had obviously never eaten one. Jez and I ended up booking our next appointments at the same time, so we suffer together. Sweet, yes?

With nothing to do in particular, we played Mariokart over croissant and coffee, and then visited Bat-dog at Pets Paradise. Bat-dog is a black labrador who has shiny fur and does nothing but sleep. The first time we saw him, he was slumped near the front of his cage, his eyes open in a sleepy slit. Jez put his hand under Bat-dog's chin. Bat-dog simply rested his weight on Jez's fist and continued to doze. A few minutes later he decided he was thirsty. He crawled over to his bowl, looked at it with sleepy eyes, and then very slowly and very deliberately stuck out his tongue and licked the side, all the while slumped all over the place. We couldn't stop laughing.

Oh and I forget why we named him Bat-dog. But yes, we're still naming pets that aren't ours. I remember listing a few of them many months ago. There are a few new additions:

Annie: This one I named after myself in a fit of narcissism. Annie is still a kitten. She's pure white, except for her tail, which is striped with caramel. She belongs to the house on my way to the station that is the home of several other cats that have been there for as long as I can remember.

Alice: A tiny cream-coloured pomeranian and one of the cutest puppies I've ever seen. She's still in Pets Paradise, last time we checked. Named by Jez after Alice Cullen.

Mocha (pronounced "mo-chah", not "mo-kah" like the coffee): Cross of shih-tzu and something else. Tiny. Black and brown. Hyperactive and has body shaped like a jellybean. Recently sold from Pets Paradise hopefully to someone tolerant of crazy dogs. Jez named him.

The past two nights have been spent celebrating our birthdays. Last night we ate at Prego's with Jez's parents, who for reasons beyond my understanding decided to give me the present of a $250 Myer gift card. I contemplated using it to buy Jez something for his birthday, but later decided that we'd use it on something worthwhile that both of us could use. At the moment I honestly can't think of anything that could satisfy these conditions.

I hate buying make-up. Mainly because quality make-up is expensive, and because they come in such measly little containers. Unfortunately I had a past of experimenting with rather horrible looks (i.e. blue liner, purple liner, purple lipstick, don't ask), and own a stack of cosmetics that I haven't yet thrown out only because of the price at which they came. I've now learnt to stick with the staples. MAC Powerpoint liner in duck. MAC SPF 30 concealer shade 31. Maxfactor Masterpiece mascara. I'm trying to wean off blush, but I'm just so goddamn pale without it.

Just when my make-up bag is at its lightest, some genius shows me a brow trick. I've managed to live with the fact that my eyebrows look like they came from two different faces, until the girl who waxed my eyebrows yesterday made them (gasp) identical. She used a little tub of brown powder that looked like, but she assured me wasn't, eyeshadow.

Later, I wandered around first-level Myer waiting for Jez to finish work. I stopped at the Benefit stand and was immediately spotted by the make-up consultant who gushed on and on about what an adorable little pixie I was. And what lovely eyebrows I had. It was the first time, in my entire life, that anyone paid me compliment on possibly the ugliest feature of my face, except for my nose, of course. I made myself a promise, right there an then, to start taking proper care of my brows. And to never let Jez fluff them up with his lips. Ever. Again.

The Benefit lady explained to me that the little compact contained a wax designed to flatten unruly eyebrows. I should have known that nothing in the world was going to tame my spiky spikes. I imagined Jez's face if he had witnessed her frustrated expression as she attempted, in futility, to make my brows lie flat.