Hi, people –
Boy, I am EXHAUSTED from all the posts I didn’t do for National Blog Post Month! It almost makes me feel like I haven’t accomplished anything since I last hit publish on November 23rd, or whatever that last date was…but I assure you – that is not the case.
For example, I laid bare my feelings about my weight in a public way – and, apparently, in a way that resonated with many, many people. So, yay, me. Part of me still rages at the absolute cosmic injustice of the fact that given all our female bodies endure in the name of perpetuating the human race, we aren’t subsequently rewarded with EXACTLY THE KIND OF BODY THAT MAKES US HAPPY DAMMIT. I mean, I really think that for each child we have, we should get to CHOOSE the boobs and ass and stomach we want to have instead of being left with what we are. That would be fair of the universe, right??? We should get HOTTER AND HOTTER after each birth!!! I mean, can someone please explain to me why I don’t lose five pounds every time I RESIST going into Dunkin Donuts already??? *shaking my fist at the universe.*
Ahem. Anyhow, yeah, I wrote about that in an actual mature way. I’m allowed to be immature on my blog, though, so shut up, because before I link to that really thoughtful, mature piece I wrote about weight on Purple Clover, I’m gonna just be immature about one more thing and tell you a story about a conversation I had in a cab a few years ago.
So after an informal high school reunion in Manhattan, I shared a cab with a couple of guys, one of whom was my first boyfriend in high school. He said, “You look the same as high school!” or some such nonsense, to which I replied self-deprecatingly, “Yeah, well, plus twenty or so pounds.” To which he said, “Yeah, you really HAVE gained a lot of weight! What happened???”
Imma repeat that, for those of you in the back row who didn’t hear me right. He said,
I kind of sputtered through a response involving kids and prozac and the like, but in the moment – even now – while part of me wanted to poke out his eyes with a fork, the other part of me wanted to grab his face and give him a kiss on his stupid cheek. I did neither, but in a way, it was a relief to hear such an honest response after I’d said something to denigrate myself. To not have to sit through the discomfort of someone else trying to convince me that what I know to be true wasn’t really true, and then have to recover and be gracious for the compliments I forced him into giving in response to my remarks. I still might punch him if I ever see him again, because seriously, you know he deserves to be punched. But then I’ll kiss him on his stupid cheek and tell him he’s not quite as svelte as he was in high school, either.
Until then, please enjoy my piece on Purple Clover.