By Michelle Poston Combs of Rubber Shoes in Hell
I can’t change anything for people who struggle with weight loss, but I sure as hell can bitch about it. In fact, if I could get paid for bitching, I’d be rich. I’m good at it.
The other thing I can do, is when I see or hear people acting in a disrespectful way toward overweight people, I can call them out on it. And I do.
Here is the first thing I would change:
Other people. I am so fucking tired of other people with their snotty, supercilious, superior attitudes. Probably some other ‘S’ words as well, but I can’t think of any at the moment. Show me one single person who can say that they have no insecurities or no emotional issues and I will show you a big, fat liar. For those of us who struggle with weight loss, well, we have insecurities, issues, and difficulties, and the whole world gets to see them on our ass.
I honestly believe it would be easier to lose weight if we didn’t have to worry about the size of our ass being judged. It’s a vicious cycle. You want to look down your nose at me because I shop at the fat girl store? Fuck you. Watch me eat this Twinkie, motherfucker.
Clothes. Seriously, how fucking hard can it be to make some decently priced, pretty clothes for bigger girls? I know there are specialty shops, but how the fuck is the average big girl supposed to pay specialty shop prices? Yeah, sure, bigger girls require more material, but it’s not that much more fucking material. You know why the crappy ass clothes at most of the big girl shops cost so much? Because there’s no other choice. It’s our tax. You want something to wear? I guess you will pay 45.00 for a cheap ass t-shirt. And you won’t fucking complain because you got no choice. Unless you want to get all your clothes from Walmart. Well, guess what. Walmart clothes suck.
Oh..and here’s a little observation for the fat girl stores. Changing the sizes to a 1 or a 2 or a 3 does not make those pants anything other than a 14, 16 or 18. The sizes are what they are. Don’t try to convince us that playing games with the size means any fucking thing. It doesn’t. In fact, and I can only speak for myself, I find it mildly insulting. This is one arena where men have it right. How many inches around is the waist and how many inches long are the legs? That’s the size. Period.
Our own damn selves. I know that I can’t possibly speak for everyone with weight to lose. I’m sure there are circumstances that I don’t understand or haven’t had to deal with. With that being said, for most of us, our issues with weight have to do with our thinking.
The more difficult life gets, the easier it is to not make good food choices. The more life kicks us in the nuts, the easier it is to watch TV and not work out. There’s never enough money. Something is always broken. Cars, dishwashers, central air units. Medical bills are always harping away. Then there are the never-ending cubicle years. You know what makes all that feel better? Goddamn cake.
Other people. Oh, I mentioned this one already? Well, I think it bears repeating. Is it acceptable to poke fun of other people based on race, religion, handicap or sexual orientation? Of course not. Oh, it happens, I hear it all the time, but it’s quiet. Or only spoken among those like-minded friends. But fat people? Well, hell! There’s no need to whisper. Making fun of fat people is almost acceptable. Judging fat people is perfectly fine! Because you assholes passing the judgment know everything there is to know about that person you are looking down your nose at, right? You know their medical history and you know where all their emotional scars are and how deep they run, right? Oh! You don’t? You don’t need to? You already know what their problem is, they need to eat less and exercise and stop being lazy fucks who are just asking to be fat.
Yeah. Fuck you. Ask anyone who is carrying around a noticeable amount of extra weight how happy they are to look the way they look. Ask them how easy it is to change. For those of you who have never struggled or never had an issue with weight gain, you do not know what you are talking about. Therefore, you should shut the fuck up. And be nice. How fucking hard is it just just be nice? Here’s a rule. This is a good rule. In fact, I firmly believe that if we all followed this rule a whole shit ton of the world’s problems would cease to be. Here it is: Don’t be a dick.
Now wish me luck.
I’m down 8 pounds so far.
This piece was originally published on Rubber Shoes in Hell
About the Author
Michelle Poston Combs can be found at her blog, Rubber Shoes In Hell. Her work can also be found on The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, The Mid, In the Powder Room, Mock Mom and Better After 50. She had an essay in Jen Mann’s latest anthology, I Still Just Want To Pee Alone. She is also in the 2015 Indianapolis cast of Listen To Your Mother. Follow along on Facebook and Twitter.