Fabienne: I was looking at myself in the mirror.
Fabienne: I wish I had a pot.
Butch: You were lookin’ in the mirror and you wish you had some pot?
Fabienne: A pot. A pot belly. Pot bellies are sexy.
Butch: Well you should be happy, ’cause you do.
Fabienne: Shut up, Fatso! I don’t have a pot! I have a bit of a tummy, like Madonna when she did “Lucky Star,” it’s not the same thing.
Butch: I didn’t realize there was a difference between a tummy and a pot belly.
Fabienne: The difference is huge.
Butch: You want me to have a pot?
Fabienne: No. Pot bellies make a man look either oafish, or like a gorilla. But on a woman, a pot belly is very sexy. The rest of you is normal. Normal face, normal legs, normal hips, normal ass, but with a big, perfectly round pot belly. If I had one, I’d wear a tee-shirt two sizes too small to accentuate it.
Butch: You think guys would find that attractive?
Fabienne: I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.
When I see my stomach in all its soft, round Venus of Willendorf glory, I sometimes think of Fabienne in Pulp Fiction when she started talking about wanting a pot belly. That line about we find visually pleasing versus what actually feels good resonated with me and I haven’t seen the movie in years. I just liked that her character in the movie is this bold, strong woman who couldn’t care less about what the opposite sex finds attractive.
Today, my pot belly is wearing a crop top and it’s surprisingly the most flattering silhouette ever for a girl like me.