The BFF

Ten deep and ten toes down, including myself. Perfect tens, excluding myself. I couldn’t forget to add the extra five pounds tacked on after my freshman fifteen kicked in. We walked the campus as tight as ten fingers balled up into tight fists. Beautiful women of all shapes, sizes, styles, and shades, each woman killing it in her own right. The tomboy, the bougouise, the brat, the poet, the songstress, the joker, the bold, the rebel, the prissy, and the prude Cat calls and hungry howls turned heads and caused blushed cheeks to rise like Pillsbury buscuits in the oven no doubt. I grinned proudly for whichever one of my girls that was soon to reiceve a compliment. I already made up in my mind that I would turn a deaf ear to it to protect my pride because none of the suitors were calling out to me. In our sisterhood, I already determined that I was the BFF!

With such a big squad one must be wondering, “BFF to whom? How can you be besties with them all”? By now, some of you have already asked your mental Alexa to play Tokyo Vanity’s “Best Friend” as loud as possible and have began twerking in your seat. You don’t understand. Get the hump out of your back and get your hands off of your knees. That’s not what I’m refer to. In this case, the acronym BFF does not stand for “Best Friend(s) Forever”, I am talking about being the plump pal, the curvy companion, the fluffy buddy, the Big Fat Friend!

Being the heavyset hottie in the group has not always been easy. At times it is still a challenge. Even though the squad has shrunken considerably over the years and I can no longer disguise myself in numbers, I sometimes still walk around with a huge guard up when in groups or when part of a duo. Being the friend to hold the purse or pass the numbers along from a cute guy was my role many a days. It was difficult to hear that I was cute for a “big” girl and even harder to listen to a crush tell me how much they wanted to be with one of my girls. I blamed it all on my weight. I felt overlooked, overwhelmed, and underappreciated.

Girl’s night out is one of the most sought after and anticipated times that groups of friends look forward to. It’s a chance to unwind, let your hair down, and let it all hang out! Well, at least that’s what it ought to be. More than likely, the opposite happens! Every strand of hair is in place and the waist training restricts anything from hanging out. I remember, one ladies night in particular, I hit the reggae club with a friend taller than me and considerably heavier than I was. Although my mindset was totally wrong, I had told myself that tonight she could be the BFF for once and I would get the attention and numbers that I deserved. Boy was I wrong! This chick shined like the star that she is and got the attention and digits of the hottest men in the room from the youngest to the oldest. I was absolutely floored. I couldn’t understand how did I get the results that I did.

With a heavy heart, I went home alone, took off my heels and freak-um dress, and tossed my phone lacking new numbers on the nightstand. I then had a heart-to-heart with my sister who cheered me up and reminded me of how beautiful I was after she scolded me for trying to outshine my friend. After lifting my spirits she let me in on of the key ingredients that I was missing that led me to cook up a recipe for disaster. She told me, “quality not quantity”. I was stuck on this. How did math or economics play a role? She explained it. “Its not about how much you weigh, it’s about how much you bring you can bring to the table and the quality thereof. Men can see baggage full of insecurities that your dragging as well as the morals and confidence that she is carrying!” Wow! That was a word if I ever heard one! To myself, I was a BFF: a Bad Friend For real! I was a lousy pal to my friend and to myself. I had been emotionally wearing a cardboard hobo “will wed for confidence and validation” sign around my neck and didn’t even know it! No one ever viewed me as less than in my group besides me. My stinking thinking and distorted perception of my curves was the issue. It was my lack of self-image and self-love that was driving Mr. Right the wrong direction.

Do a self evaluation right now. Do you believe that you are a BFF? Are you the beautiful full figured queen or the big fat friend? Are you the Baddie that’s Fine and Focused? Are you a Bombshell Femme Fatale? Only you can decide. With self-love, confidence, and ambition you will be a true BFF (Best Friend Forever) to the one who needs you to be the most: YOU!

Published by thebigbaddwolfe

A curvy queen empowering all women of all sizes to end body shaming! If the crown fits...wear it! Queen, you're the perfect size!šŸ’‹šŸ‘‘

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