Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure what loving one’s body might mean, beyond the obvious off-colour jokes. But apparently, it’s something that one is supposed to proclaim as an accomplishment, a credential of progressivism. I have, however, noted that it tends to be announced by people whose declared triumph in this matter is not altogether convincing, and whose basis for doing so is generally much slimmer than they are.
It must be quite strange to go through life feeling a need to boast in print of some pointed behaviour – specifically, “showing my sons what a real woman’s body… looks like” – as if this feat of not wearing knickers were somehow radical, empowering, and a basis for applause. And to then have to justify this lifestyle affectation in ways that are somewhat contradictory and not particularly convincing. As if no-one would notice. It seems a lot of effort.
Crack And Badger
On the cost of pervert inclusivity; on Trump-induced hair-loss; and on not wearing knickers as the height of progressive parenting.
Crack and Badger? Sounds like the name of an English pub.
Probably best not to ask about the etymology of “crack and badger”, the badger bit in particular.
“Loving one’s body?” Sounds like a load of wank.