Voila! I’m Fat!!
August 1, 2007
It’s all relative, but finally menopause has brought about an interesting phenomena. Although I go to weight lifting classes, jog, fast walk and eat lettuce for dinner, I am now, suddenly, without a waist!! Wow! Now I get it!
This obsession with the battle of the bulge. I used to think, “just eat less, fatso”, but now I GET IT. It doesn’t matter what you eat, or what you do, UNLESS you begin to live like a human being was meant to live– i.e. hunting and gathering various berries and carcasses, on the verge of starvation, without so much as a grocery store or drive-through to get you through the day. Even then, there is evidence that you will have a slight paunch where your belly button is.
Wow. This is magnificent. Within six months, NO CLOTHES fit. Suddenly it is all sarongs. Wrapping a rag around it. I turn over, at night, on my side and feel my stomach lying next to me, like a small pet, a new friend providing warmth and comfort, much like a down quilt. It is an honor to “hang out” with you. I mean that. It is about time that my body started presenting itself as my lifestyle warrants.
I just got back from the grocery. I was at the deli counter about to order a large cup of pitted olives and a pound of sliced smoked turkey. The man ahead of me ordered two pounds of Vermont cheese and salami. The deli slicer gave the man a large slice of the Vermont cheese and said “would you like a taste?” He offered the man a heavy slice of the cheese to“test” as he continued to slice up the pound. The man stood and ate the large slice of Vermont cheese with a nodding head. “Wonderful” he blubbered. Within a half minute he had ingested the equivalent of a days caloric intake for a family of four in Ethiopia. Just a taste.
What a wonderful country we live in. Pigs, feasting merrily at the trough, concerned about the thickness of our slices. I cannot believe my good fortune.
I am next in line. I am offered two thick slabs of both turkey and ham. I stand at the counter, in my baggy blouse and stretch pants, partaking of a free lunch, amazed that I am not obese. I am eating the free turkey and ham, standing up, at a deli counter in The United States of America. My pulsing chubby gut quivers with satisfaction and I say to myself “ who gives a shit if I ever get laid again anyway” and then, “ compared to other sex symbols in the industrialize countries, I am still considered thin. It is just that I‘m not used to seeing a layer of blubbery fat wrapped around my middle. Now I understand size medium, size large.But those women who wear size medium and large, friends of mine, are constantly fucking various men, husbands, etc. not concerned about silly things like a thick waistline. Oh! I get it! It doesn’t matter! Why didn’t someone tell me this years ago, when I cared about looking good, and looked good, and still couldn’t get anywhere with a man because the only thing that was fat about me was my mouth. A fat mouth trumps a fat middle by a mile.
So, bon appetite! Let my newfound wisdom allow me to indulge in my favorite chocolate fantasy! And if, for some reason, I decide that I want to have sex again before I die, all I need to do it buy a size large or very large lace g-string and see through silk caftan. Turn the lights down low. And keep my mouth shut.
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There is somebody in my house in Vermont. A nice man is renting my house and I am thrilled because that man is renting my house and sending me money so that I can rent an apartment in Providence. Now, wait a minute. Does this make sense? I thought so, a few weeks ago, when I was working here, singing, planning, organizing, hob-knobbing, but as of today, as I lugged a bunch of my crap up two flights of stairs on the East Side, all the while knowing I would have to lug the crap back down the two flights of stairs a few months from now— as of today, I thought to myself, “Gee, I don’t feel very good in my head” I sat on the stairs, dirty stairs, very dirty, and considered my situation. I blamed the town of Bridport , Vermont, for not having a Dunkin Donut’s or a Cafe, a bar or a nightclub, a college, tennis courts, health club, movie theater. Then I blamed myself for wanting those things. Then I blamed myself for having those things here in Providence and not taking advantage of them because I like staying home and reading in bed. Now, if I like staying home and reading in bed, why don’t I just move back to my own home, in Bridport, and wait out the winter with Charles Dickens and Mark Twain? Now that I have rented my house, I miss it. It is not available. That is why I was so sad today, moving into what I thought was a nice apartment on the East Side. It is somebody elses house and always will be, no matter how many knick knacks, rugs, paintings, books, personal items I stuff into it. Renting makes me feel insecure, more insecure than worrying about how to pay my property tax. It’s silly, because none of us own anything fully. Still, sombody is in MY house and i am in somebody else’s house, and it’s ridiculous in a way that I can’t quite comprehend and it is making me very very sad.