One of my friends from work left to pursue another business opportunity. Yesterday was her last day, so even though I have been on vacation all week, I drove into town to celebrate with a bunch of folks from the office.
The get-together was held at a local wing joint. I think everyone had a good time. AT one point, the girl of the hour wanted to do a tequila shot, and I joined in. I haven’t done shots in a long time and had forgotten how much I like tequila. We only did two shots, but these days, that’s enough to get me warmly toasted.
In fact, I was toasty enough to not want to drive the forty minutes home so I hung out far past the time I should have left. In the end, was the oldest person left. It shouldn’t have been a problem, except that I was with three younger and far, far, more attractive ladies.
My friends are generally kind to me so most of the time I don’t realize that I am old, fat, and ridiculous. I’ve gotten myself to a condition where even construction workers won’t hit on me. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. My husband loves me exactly how I am. I only wish I did too.
It’s so silly to be vain, but I am. I am 50 pounds overweight and resent every bit of it. However, I have no willpower when it comes to food, and actually, not as much control over what I eat as most people think. It seems, that after years of anorexia, I am now fighting the battle at the opposite extreme.
Usually, if I want something, I simply go get it. It’s a rare thing to fail. But this weight thing – this knowing how to eat and still doing it wrong – proves I can fail. The only silver lining is that at least my failure isn’t hurting anyone else. Maybe that’s what makes people tell me I’m not that fat, or some other meaningless platitude to make me shut up about my weight.
I know that people say my size is average, but if it’s so average, why don’t normal clothes fit me? Screw that. If I’m unhappy with my weight, then I am. It’s all I can see when I look in the mirror.