I’m fat because I eat like shit a lot of the time. And because I’m pretty lazy and hate to sweat.
I’m not telling you this because I’m proud to be fat or something; I’m just stating that I know why I’m fat and it’s not because of some disease or something.
There are lots of disadvantages to being fat. Believe me, I know. But, there are also some advantages.
Like how being fat is a great deterrent to small talk, particularly with those of the opposite sex. And small talk is something I hate more than sweating.
I just don’t give a shit what you think about the weather. It’s hot. It’s humid. It sucks fucking ass. I also don’t give a shit that this is the first time you’ve been in this building and the air conditioning sure is nice and cold compared to the steam bath that smacks you down when you exit the building. It’s summer and it sucks. Don’t talk to me.
How do I get away from this? Remain fat.
This probably sounds ridiculous but I’ve had some experience with this theory of mine: I lost 70 pounds one year and suddenly I was finding that doors were being held open for me. All of a sudden people wanted to talk to me. And laugh and smile.
Those same people don’t even see me now that I’ve gained all the weight back. But it’s (mostly) OK because I’d rather blend in to the background than be singled out and talked to.
I hate small talk, so fat it is.
Another advantage is when it comes time to hold a baby. Babies LOVE me and my cushion. It’s just a fact…see for yourself:
Ahhh can you smell her? She smells SO good I could eat her. Not for real, of course. I mean, yeah I’m fat and all but I’m not a cannibal or something. I just like cheeseburgers and fries and ice cream and…
Sometimes I just need to shut it off.
Other times it’s like I never turned it back on again.
I wonder: could this be what it’s like to lose my mind?
When I look in the mirror, I generally smile back at what I see. Sure there are lots of silver-grays, sure there’s plenty of pudge and a double chin, sure there’s an eyebrow hair to pluck, but it’s all me. And I like me. I really do.
Wasn’t always this way though, and I think that makes me smile even more. It used to be that when I looked in the mirror, I’d cry. No hyperbole there. I cried a lot fifteen years ago. I was lonely. I was empty. When I looked in the mirror I wanted to know why I felt so alone, why I WAS so alone and empty.
Then I made a huge change (with the change of the century) and I started finally really living life instead of sitting on the sidelines. I realized life is what you make of it.
And my life is pretty damn good.
So yeah…when I look in the mirror I like what I see and smile. If I don’t, who else will?
Daily Prompt: Mirror, Mirror
by michelle w. on July 5, 2013
Finish this sentence: “When I look in the mirror, I . . . “
“Is there going to be a funeral?” my uncle asked, eyes wide. He looked so sad… afraid? “Because I really would like to come.”
“Of course,” I answered. “There will absolutely be a funeral but we’re not sure when.”
“Just make up a day, Carly,” my younger cousin Tricia snapped. “He won’t know the difference. He won’t remember anything.”
Crude little bitch, I thought.
“Is there going to be a funeral?” Uncle Rudy asked again. “Because I really would like to come.”
Tricia rolled her eyes, folded her arms and tossed a sneer across the room before she looked at me as if to say I told you so.
I know how impatient I get with my own 80-year-old father; I can’t even begin to fathom what Alzheimer’s would add to the mix. But still. If they’re so fucking annoyed, so bothered by him and his ways, can’t they place him somewhere where maybe the people caring for him could show a little more compassion? For fucks sake, his mother just died half an hour ago and yes, he’s asking for the fifth time if there is going to be a funeral… but do you not see his eyes? Do you not see the desperation behind the fading blue? Must you be so fucking crude as to dismiss what he says right in front of him?
Crude little bitch, I thought to myself again.