So, I’m sat in a bar with two women. Bee is slight and curvy with a smile you could use as an emergency power generator. Her boyfriend is wrapped around her, hands resting comfortably on her tawny stomach. He can’t wipe the adoration off his face.
Her friend, Tara has eyes like a prairie dawn — all space and light — and legs a racehorse would kill for. Her boyfriend has been wearing a Cheshire grin for their entire relationship.

Apropos nothing Tara starts talking about dieting. Bea points out that Tara is perfectly shaped.

“It’s easy for you to say, you’re so tiny,” Tara responds. “I just feel better lighter.”

“But you have curves and hips and…”

The maddening call-and-response of female self-loathing continues. I want to drown myself in my G&T.

I’ve heard the same conversation a thousand times. I’ve had the same conversation a thousand times. It…