We celebrated Thanksgiving well and happily. Twelve of us squeezed around my Dad’s dinner table, while the younger kids spent half of their dinner at the kiddie table and the other half chewing on pieces of turkey and spinning in circles next to their chairs. If any one else pops out another baby before next year, we’re going to have to hold Thanksgiving in a more appropriate venue, like Chuck E. Cheese.

My cousin and his wife, Stephanie, and their two young children were amongst the guests. Stephanie is this tall cool glass of water, she’s a knock-out y’all, and I hate her. No, I don’t hate her, she‘s actually super cool, knows how to throw around the sarcasm, intelligent and…wait, no actually, I do hate her. So Stephanie comes in and we hug and since she’s a foot taller than me I dodge my head to the side in order to avoid planting my face between her boobs.

Standing to her side is Olivia, Stephanie’s mini-me four year old daughter. Olivia is a stunning little girl with long blonde hair that’s interspersed with golden highlights. She’s wearing a gold lame party dress with gold sparkly shoes and white leg warmers – and really, how rockin’ are leg warmers with a party dress? Now that think of it, I should also probably add fashionable when describing Stephanie – that bitch.

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*WARNING: FEMINIST RANT TO FOLLOW*

Have I recently mentioned our friends from the states were visiting? Yes, I think I may have mentioned this already, like in every other sentence I’ve written lately like here and here and here. Well, they have visited and since left, and brought along with them months worth of gossip zines like Us Weekly and People. I read them all at once. Instead of slowing sipping in the celebrity gossip, I slurp deeply and rapidly, as I do with a frozen margarita, and then I get the equivalent of an ice cream headache and need to hold my temples and squeeze the arm of whoever’s sitting nearest me until the thumping pain of the cold drink subsides. I overindulged and read all the People and Us Weekly magazines at once, and then any of the remaining brains cells I’d managed to retain since my last episode of childbirth, drained out of the orifices of my head. For the next several weeks, I will then talk in simple sentences and cannot incorporate words bigger than “emancipation” or “cosmically” into my daily vocabulary.

Anyway, even when I’m totally sucked into one of those reading binges and have little awareness for anything, or one else around me, other then where Brad and Ang will adopt next, I’m still jarred by one of the regular sections in Us Weekly magazine called “Who Wore it Best”. In the past, I usually just skipped over the column. That was until my impressionable young preteen daughter started flipping through my picked over Us Weekly magazines and asked me, “Mama, who do you think wore it best?”, and I’m thinking well the skinny bitch of course. Did that sound offensive? Well, of course it did! 2009 ladies – jeesh – and they’re pitting two women together in identical dresses and asking who fills the thing out best! And the consistent winner of these polls? Oh yeah, that’s right, the gal with the biggest boobies and lipoed thighs. So here’s what I think they should start calling this column:

“Who has the Bigger Tittys and the Thinnest Thighs?”

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We’re all grown-ups, we can handle it. But do you think it’s MORE offensive than the actual content of the column itself? Too harsh? Not marketable enough? How bout “Who Has the Biggest Boobies and Longest Legs?” My three year old refers to her nipples as her “boobies” so I think that title would be safe enough.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’ve got all this feminist crap my mom tried instilling in me. Maybe I just need to relax. Maybe it’s all in good fun and someone needs to knock some sense into me, or maybe the pregnancy mag like Fit Pregnancy could a run similar column. They could call it: “Who Wore Their Bump Best?” Because what pregnant women, and all women, really need is another voice telling them they’re probably too fat.

Remember, you were warned.