Venus in Fats

My Dad is afraid of my weight. He keeps his distance. He mourns the loss of his daughter and the arrival of birthing, sweating WOMAN. He doesn't like the sound of heavy, of treading with might. He doesn't like the roar of femalehood. He likes small wrists and delicate swan necks. He likes his Venus in fur, not in rolls. So do I. But hey... give a girl a break once in a while. Or a hug and a kiss. Get over it.