The Twelve Worst Things About Being Fat

At least, these are the dirty dozen today.

1. Thin people think they are somehow morally superior. People have no qualms making personal comments about my size. They give me an exaggerated wide berth in stores. Usually, I’m invisible.

2. Food is dull. When I can eat anything, I want nothing.

3. When I run, I bounce. It doesn’t matter how much I strap bits down or lace them up, I can feel the flaps of flab jiggling as I run.

4. I don’t ride horses anymore because I don’t want to subject the horse to my weight. I don’t ice skate now because I think I would look comical. I don’t ride a bicycle because I can just picture my big ass on that tiny little seat.

5. The EMTs grunted when they had to carry me up the stairs on a gurney. Never mind that I’d dislocated my tailbone and the pain was enough to make me pass out. All I could think about was how awful it must be to have to carry me. Even when there are three of them doing it.

6. Most clothes for fat girls are cheap, nasty and ugly. They’re certainly not flattering. Even stores that carry reasonably priced, nice-looking clothes for women of “normal” sizes operate under the delusion that we want fuchsia and lime kaftans, or that our clothing must have random patterns in ugly colors, with lightweight jersey that shows every roll of flesh. And sequins. Don’t forget the sequins. All fat girls love sequins.

7. If you go out with another person who’s overweight, people giggle.

8. You inadvertently touch people on airplanes and theatre seats.

9. Who knew bracelets could be too small?  Even necklaces are sometimes so short they dig a groove into the neck fat.

10. I dread family photographs. Every picture is horrible and I look at them in despair and think, do I really look like that?

11. The constant virtual measuring of those around me to see if I’m the fattest in the room. The despair when you discover your fat friends weigh less than you do.

12. Sex is less fun than it used to be. Inhibition is steeped in those layers of flesh. Other women make plays for my husband. (Not that he notices, saint that he is.)

Target number is 55. Steps walked 6771. Breakfast – watermelon. Two hard-boiled eggs. Yogurt with granola. A very small piece of chocolate cake. A cup of baked beans. Cup of Miso soup. Small green salad. 20 pieces of sashimi and sushi, all mediocre, sigh. One slice of squash, fried tempura style.

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