As any fule know, I love the pneumatic Carol Vorderman for all sorts of reasons:
…but at the same time, I’m not that fooled when I see headlines like this one:
…because let’s be honest, if those bountiful 63-year-old curves were not shoehorned into and corralled by “figure-hugging outfits”, she’d probably resemble a half-filled baggie of Jello.
Not that there’s much wrong with that, of course. I find Jello quite lovely to eat, and I’m pretty sure that this would also be true of la Vorderman.
Why do you like fat sheilas so much???
Always have, never bothered to wonder why.
Corollary: never cared much for stick figures either.
She isn’t fat. A well padded woman is voluptuous. Add a couple of pounds to that and she’s warmth in the winter and shade in the summer.
Robson’s Law of Male Attraction states that the kind of woman a man will be attracted to is highly dependent on the first girl and/or teacher he has a crush on. Blonde, brunette or ginger. Long , medium or short hair. Straight or curly hair. Light or dark eyes. Skinny, slender, average, chubby, or fat. Tall, average, or short stature. If the first girl and teacher are a bit different, then it’s mix and match. Oh, and the size bust that first teacher crush has, determines preferred bust size.
Not scientifically proven by a large-scale study, but it works. Does it work for you, Kim, Biwoz, Bueller?
For me, it’s bollocks.
The first girl I had a crush on was the super-skinny Lynette Cohen, in my second-grade class. Dark hair, olive-skinned. Nothing like what I prefer now.
The first teacher I had a crush on was Mrs. Cook, in third grade. Okay, she had pale skin, red hair and freckles, which might explain THAT infatuation. BUT she was skinny. Never saw her boobs because at that age, I didn’t know women had them.
I think the voluptuous boobs thing started to manifest itself in College. OMG Irene Cronin. Gorgeous, but not a redhead, in fact, brunette but very curvy, deep brown eyes. And serious boobs, which she always showed to their best advantage. It was 1972.
Robson’s Law: failure. For me, anyway.