Summary
Sometimes it's hard to be a woman. These were the words my sister uttered the other morning. She wasn't referring to the glass ceiling, the unforgivably low rate of rape convictions, Susan Boyle, or the logistical nightmare of walking in heels on cobbles. She was talking about our collective battle with the lady belly. Yes, that protruding podgy hill that every woman faces when she looks south, the perennial obstacle to the feet. I think of the lady belly as woman's worst friend, as loyal and keen to be fed and petted as a pup, but not quite as cute.
Having a belly if you're a man is a given, a rite of passage to maturity. It's there to be slapped, rubbed and to lay your head upon. It doubles up as a useful table for balancing a beer or a remote control and it always sees the sun on a hot day as last week will testify. Men even get a name of their own for their shameless tums. Beer bellies.See the full content of this document
Extract
Chitra Ramaswamy
Women, though, are not supposed to have beer bellies. The only ...
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