I'm Fat. Get Over It.

'Scuse me while I rant.

If there is one thing I am damn sick of, it's apologizing for being fat.

I can't try on clothes, watch t.v. or movies or even be in the vicinity of teenagers without being reminded that I'm fat. I have to put up with snide remarks. I have to watch stereotypes of overweight people. (Why do they always seem to be obsessed with food?) Nothing comes in my size, so I have to dress in old lady clothes from Sears or The Bay.

I can't eat a meal without somebody making a face or a tsk noise or letting me know how many sit ups I'm going to have to do in order to burn off all the calories. I feel guilty if I eat junk food in public.

Just a few weeks ago, I was helping a woman and her toddler choose some books. The little kid turned to his mother and exclaimed, "That lady sure is fat, Mommy!" The mother had the decency to be embarrassed and made the little boy apologize, but it made me wonder: Where did he learn that?

Today, though, was one of the toughest times I had to deal with. It wasn't really what was said. It was who said it.

Jeff's father made some hurtful comments about my weight. Let me point out that the man himself is no Svelte Stan. Let me also state that it's not the first time he has made such comments. Let me also say that sometimes these statements about my size are not made in private. I've had to deal with them at a wedding, a few family functions when there are strangers around, and once during Christmas dinner when my Mother was sitting right next to me. She was quick to jump to my aid, but sometimes there is no one around to help. Sometimes people just laugh uncomfortably.

I'm not really sure how to deal. I mean, the man has given us money to buy a house. He's my boyfriend's father. I can't get medieval on his ass because I'd look like a bitch, but I can't take the insults any more.

I'm fat. Get over it. I did, and I'm not sorry.