Let’s talk about being Fat

Immodesty Blaize, Miss Exotic World 2007.

Image via Wikipedia

I stand in front of my mirror now and I observe the curves and lines that have become my own body. There’s a huge mirror over the bathroom sink in my hotel room and another full length one in the main room. Both afford me ample space to turn and spin and see every inch of Me.

Am I Fat? Hm, if you ask me I’m liable to say that I am more rubinesque and had I been born during the Renaissance period, artists would have clamored to do my portrait.   I remember the first time someone called me Fat like it was yesterday.

I was appalled.

There was this truly vile kitemaker who, during a chat session online, demanded I date him. When I reminded him that he was married and besides that, I didn’t like him that way, that I liked someone else, he called me (and I’ll never forget it) an “overweight cow”.

Really?

I stared at my computer screen in complete shock. I had no idea how to respond to this kind of personal attack, but at the risk of offending all of my hair-challenged friends, I wrote “Hey, why don’t you grow some hair on your head!” Out of all of the other more heinous flaws he had shown he possessed, I still have no clue why this was the only one I picked to use against him. Well, that and I wrote that his house smelled like a catbox. I can make that kind of observation because I have 2 cats, I have friends that have several cats, and none of our houses smell like a catbox.

I was shocked because this happened almost 2 decades ago and I weighed 140 pounds and stood at 5 feet, 9 inches tall. I was not overweight.

Years later and pounds creeping on from love, cooking for someone I love, liking my own cooking, hormones, etc. I have gained more than a few pounds. The worst demon being blowing out the base of my spine in a bicycle accident. All in all, I think I carry my own weight well. It hasn’t caused me any major health issues yet. I’m not diabetic, I don’t have high blood pressure or high cholesterol. The only thing it aggravates is my back.

Since I started dieting back in December I watch my body in the mirror more often. It is changing, slowly, but surely. I find this intriguing and almost a little scary, because as I lose weight, I’m going to lose two qualitites I’ve grown quite fond of.

Those would be my breasts.

I never had breasts or hips. I was a beanpole all through adolescence, then into my teen years, through my twenties and most of my thirties. It wasn’t until my thirties that I started to have any kind of a figure at all. And when I realized I had a nice set of boobs, I was over the moon! For the first time in my life I actually *had* to wear a bra!

Life before breasts was kind of like this; in the eighties when Madonna brought back the shimmy to the dance floor and made it vogue, my shimmy produced little to no reaction at all from my dance partners. The only body part that made the most effort in the back and forth motion were my nipples and even they were embarrassed by it. I, on the other hand, was a Disco Queen and would shimmy with all of my full breasted friends with absolutely no shame. My first shimmy after I grew a pair of my own was an epiphany. So this is what it’s all about?! Wow!

My gorgeous Italian friend Sonia used to always tell me in her sultry Italian accent,  “You are a beautiful, curvy woman! In Italy you would have to fight the men off!” I love her. I’ve never been to Italy, but I’m willing to be admired and cat called should I land on their soil. I’m guessing that the European blood running through my own husband’s veins may be why he still finds me alluring and sexy too. Though sometimes he will place his hand on my belly and make a wish to Buddha. I know he’s only being playful.

I don’t hide behind my fat. I don’t use it to insulate myself from other people. Being outgoing and friendly already, a little weight has never stopped me. I do comfort eat when I’m stressed out now. I never used to do that. While I’m not sure how that started, you can bet it will stop as soon as I do find out. As far as any psychological reason for my weight gain, this is about as deep as it goes.

So, let’s talk about being called Fat. It’s not ever a term I use to describe myself. I prefer the word *chubby*. That’s not the best word to use in a description either, but I still like it. Folks that use the word Fat as a personal attack against someone are nasty human beings. As the weight drops off and I look for other words to describe myself, I will wonder about how the change will affect the way I see people struggling with this same issue. Will I call them Fat? Will I hold myself up on that High Horse of Skinnyness and pass harsh judgment on them? If I ever do, May the Goddess of Body Image give me cystic acne in my golden years.

As for you guys out there that think it’s okay to poke fun and laugh at people that weigh a little more than you might, I hope the Goddess of Body Image gives you cystic acne right now. And for all of my sisters out there that sport some bodacious, beautifully full figures I say “Work it!” Here’s some sage observation you can take to the bank; A person that feels the need to use your weight as a weapon against you is rotten to the core. Keep your head held high and your heart sweet because one thing is definitely true….

You can always lose the weight, but the person shouting the insults will never lose their black heart.

Til later, keep it real and shimmy like you mean it!

About Madeline Scribes

A writer with a sense of humor. If anyone can laugh at life, it's me.
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2 Responses to Let’s talk about being Fat

  1. Susan says:

    Weak minded and/or insecure people will always attack a person for visible, physical flaws.

    I recall a t-shirt or bumper sticker that I once read: “I may be fat, but I can diet. You’re ugly.”

    I’ve been an obsessively weight conscious person most of my life and during high school was called Thunder Thighs. This obsessiveness was only made worse by working in an industry with people who starve themselves and are bulimic to the point of rotting their teeth (no, not models, jockeys). In retrospect, I was delighted when I had accidentally put on some weight, bought bigger clothes, and the first time I noticed the extra weight was when I lost the weight again a year later.

    That was a great feeling, to realize that I had not been obsessive about my weight. I’m back to being kind of obsessive, but I’m working on being forgiving. I think that’s the key, to be forgiving of ourselves.

    Like

  2. There are times when you’re best going with the common opinion, but this one was really worth looking into. In the end each one of us will have go with one – either imported as is or molded by experice.

    Like

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