Shudder.

I actually intended to write this months ago but, as the days, weeks and months passed, I was always haunted by images. I just can't get them out of my mind. Amateur psychologists and emo kiddies alike recommend writing to recover from emotional traumas. My optimism and dire need to exorcise the images tell me that it's worth a try. Here it goes.

On a cold February morning I was listening the radio. Q-music, as always. It was exactly 7 o'clock so they started their short news break. Jeroen van Inkel told us about a survey carried out by Olaz. They had concluded that 86% of Dutch women are content with their looks. We would supposedly also like to look au natural because 46% of us spend no more than five minutes on their make-up.

AND BOY, DID THESE FACTS GET CONFIRMED THAT WEEK.

The same morning, as I cycled to school with light hypothermia, I saw things I'd rather not have seen. One lady, a latina (i.e. XXXL buttocks), wore hot pants with a legging. Her clothes suggested that she had the inability to see herself from 360° in the mirror as the pants didn't cover her entire behind. I would have forgiven this lady for the wardrobe malfunction, had she not given me the arrogant stare back when I gave her the arrogant stare. All I did was try to tell her my humble opinion about her outfit without words... Anyway, her stare back definitely told me without words that she liked the way she looked. She was happy.

The second frightening outfit I saw that week was a young girl at school. She was wearing jeans - too short, too tight. Her shoes weren't worthy of the title 'shoe'. The pink Crocs with holes and fluff should not even be mentioned. Good lord. I feel blessed for not needing to see the shirt or sweater this girl was wearing, but unfortunately I did need to endure the pain the coat caused in my eyes. It was purple, oversized and could have come straight from a rubbish dump in the 80's.

The last, but certainly not least, traumatising thing I saw that very week, was a middle-aged woman in a changing room. I was changing into my volleyball gear, when this lady sat opposite me and took her shirt off. Not only did two melons, metaphorically speaking, come tumbling out this shirt, but a different bright orange shirt also appearead from the sports bag next to her. On it, "IK BEN BLOEDMOOI." I wasn't quite sure whether I should vomit or laugh, so I just kept quiet and stared. Stared at her nose that could have been stolen from the elephant man, and stared at the flabs of blubber around her waist.

I'm not quite sure what to think of the 'good' news that Olaz brought us. On one side, it's a good sign that, in general, us chickies are okay with our looks. On the other side, I still believe there are enough people around that shouldn't be okay with their looks and may need to consider a change of lifestyle. LIKE A DIET.