The Fat Lady

I'm fat.

I'm really tired of being fat. I'm actually tired of trying to lose weight. Usually, I only get to the thinking stage of trying to lose weight - you know the exhausting work of planning meals, planning shopping lists, filling the house with healthy food, planning an exercise routine. All that planning makes me want some serious chocolate.

And I can't stand having clothes that don't fit comfortably. I'm thinking of trading in my entire wardrobe for a collection of stylish muumuus.

So, I'm at a crossroads in my life. Maybe it would be OK to just stick with being the fat lady. I've been fat for a good chunk of my life (no pun intended), and I think it suits me. My husband doesn't mind. He's 100% serious when he says he wouldn't want to be married to a Skinny Minnie - there's nothing to hold on to. But he does want me to feel good about myself. Most people enjoy a jovial fat lady, don't they? You know, like your great aunt Margie who hugs you and you get lost in her rolls? I mean, it's kind of like a big comfy pillow, right?

I have been called fat most of my life, even before I was fat. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. My brother used to call me "Jenni-fats". It only took me about 34 therapy sessions to get over that.

A kid in elementary school told me I was "pleasantly plump." I mean, seriously, was that supposed to be a compliment?

If I look back at my high school pictures, I would die for the body I had back then - why didn't I appreciate it when I had it?

There was the tiny, slender mom of a kid in my preschool class who came up to me and cheerfully asked "Oh, are you pregnant?" Obviously, she was the only woman in the universe who hadn't gotten the memo stating, "NEVER ask a woman if she is pregnant, even if she looks like she's about to give birth to a water buffalo. You WAIT until she tells you she is pregnant." (And, no, I was not pregnant at the time.)

And then there was my children's friend who came over and told me, "Mrs. Y. You're chubby." To which I responded, "Oh really?" And she continued, "Yes, my mommy told me it wasn't nice to say you're fat." Yeah, punk - go back and tell your mommy that "chubby" isn't exactly an upgrade.

You know it's hard being only 5 feet tall. There is absolutely no place for any extra fat to hide. Although people feign astonishment IF I ever tell them my actual weight. . . . and then they say something polite like, "Well, you carry it well."

Well that's enough musing about fatness. Time for bed. See you all in my dreams.

I'll be the one wearing a muumuu.