Jun 222010
 

a piece of meThat is the killer line that a lot of fat women get.   Even the ones that don’t have a pretty face hear that.   It’s always said with the inference being, “but it’s a damn shame about the rest of you!”   But that is never said.   Okay, it’s rarely said.   You can hear it though, “You have such a pretty face…but it’s a damn shame about the rest of you.”   Ahh, it makes me curse.

Speaking of cursing.   I got into an argument recently with someone I care very much about.   I don’t often have those kinds of confrontations.   Which isn’t to say, I don’t have confrontations.   I seem to have more and more of those as I get older.   Just ask the manager at the Verizon store here in West Hollywood.   That poor excuse for a manager in customer service knows I don’t shy away from confrontation.   But this other interaction I had I was most calm even though I raised my voice.   I should say that everything is really good between us now.   However, this person did tell me I used obscenities.   Fuck, I don’t even think of them as obscenities.   Sure, I try not to use them when I speak to my step father.   He is awesome and very old school and doesn’t like to hear “obscenities” coming from my mouth.   So, in deference to him, I don’t use those words. For most other people, get over it.   They are words.   Of course, I don’t curse like I have something wrong with me that requires a seratonin reuptake inhibitor.   Sometimes it’s just called for. And, most of the time it just shouldn’t matter.

People are so funny about words.   I was talking to someone yesterday and I called myself “fat.”   He tripped all over himself, “don’t call yourself that!” he stammered.   Really?!   I explained that it’s just a descriptor.   I wasn’t saying anything bad about myself.   It wasn’t like I was calling myself ugly or unfortunate in any way.   I told him as long as he didn’t yell it at me I was fine.

I was talking to a girlfriend this morning about that exchange from yesterday.   She agreed with me about it being a descriptor.   At least she mostly agreed.   When I told her some guys had walked behind me and oinked, in a shopping mall outside Chicago a couple of years ago, she couldn’t understand why I didn’t confront them.   It wasn’t like I was going to make a difference for those boys in that moment.   They were young and ignorant.   Plus I think they probably thought I was hot.

I have a theory.   It’s a theory I have had for a while.   It started when I discovered there was a whole world of men who actually preferred big women.   Yes, just like there are men who prefer brunettes and men who prefer blonds or big breasts or small breasts etc. there are men who like big women.   Yes, like a preference!   What I also discovered was there are men who have an overwhelming desire to try a big woman.   Sure there are the men in between.   There are those men who are afraid they will be ostracized if they let people know they have a preference for big women.   They are afraid of what society or their mother’s or their buddies will think.   Wimps and cowards, I say!   Those are the men who are the ones who oink when they see a fat woman or yell out of the car, “Hey Fatty!”   They are the ones who protest the most.   Which leads me to my theory that the ones who are the most vocal about it are the ones who are dying to get into those size 3x panties.

Here’s a thought.   Maybe when I say the word, “fat”, people cringe because to them it is awful.   Not just the word but what it’s describing.   Maybe we have been so trained, especially in our current culture, to believe that fat intrinsically is bad that when we here the word we cringe as if someone said something stupendously awful.   That guy I was speaking to was talking about an actress who he feels “needs to lose 10 pounds in order to be a star.”   She is maybe a size 6 on fat day during her period.   Maybe the word “fat” isn’t just an ugly word to people but maybe it also describes something that is beyond ugly.   I had a friend growing up whose mother was afraid of having me play with her after school for fear that her daughter would get fat too.   Like it was contagious.

I am ridiculously fortunate to be living the life I live.   I am happy.   I am healthy.   I have a great husband. I live in Los Angeles.   I have a wonderful family.   I have fabulous friends.   I am pursuing what gets me out of bed in the morning.   Our bills are paid this month.   I have health care.   I have a twenty in my wallet.   I love my body. And, I am FAT.   I know there are A LOT of people out there who, thin and fat alike, can’t say most of that.   Maybe it’s my mission to make a difference.   Maybe I should challenge people to stop looking at what they perceive as wrong with themselves and stop trying to fix themselves and start loving themselves and nurturing themselves and stop wanting and hoping and start making a difference for themselves.   When I told Oprah I loved my body she cringed and said, “You love your body?!”   Clearly, she has issues with being fat.   Maybe I should start with her.