The Perils of Being a Fat Lady

Yes, being a Fat Lady can be very treacherous at times. Okay, so there are times when more blame is placed on the weight than should be, but for the most part, it's a dangerous place to be.

Poly-cystic ovaries? Definitely a curse of being overweight.
Dry skin? Probably not.
Asthma? Hmmm...maybe. I'm on the fence about that one.
Sore knees? Fat problem.
Ingrown toenail? No way. (But what if I have fat toes?)
Low energy? Abdominal pain? Stretch marks? Yes, yes, and yes!
Hairy legs? Yeast infection? Chapped lips? Surely not.

I tend to blame all my problems on being fat. I developed a weird pimple this week, and called it my "fat lady pimple."

I know that losing weight won't solve all my problems. Believe me, I've got way more problems that how I look. It's fun to pretend that everything will get better, though. Oh! There's a dose of self-psychology: Since I can control my weight (supposedly) it's easy to think that all my problems will disappear once I'm slimmer. Hell, when I picture myself skinnier, I'm somehow shorter, too. How does that work?

There's a woman in my office building who definitely has some BIG problems. This woman is--unfortunately, there's no nicer way to say it--huge. She wears this disgusting, musky perfume that lingers where ever she's been, and I hate it, but thank God for it because one day she forgot it wear it, and the alternative smell was so much worse. She can only fit in the handicap stall in the bathroom and, for some reason, always takes a huge wad of paper towels in with her. She spends an eternity in there just trying to get herself clean, I imagine. She has left feces on the floor, smeared on the wall, and on the toilet seat. She frequently takes the bag out of the sanitary box to dispose of her things personally in the main garbage. Woe is the person who enters that stall after her. It's disgusting.

Yet, I feel for this woman. I know the problems I have at what is probably half of her weight. I can't imagine what she goes through every day just to get out of the house. (Although, please, please stop wearing sleeveless shirts to work.) There are lots of real perils of being a Fat Lady, and I'm sure this woman has lived through every one. There are times I wish I was friends with her, or knew her, and could say, "Hey Sally, let's go take a walk on our lunch." or "Let's go grab something at the salad bar."

I'm sure it's a medical condition--according to my boss, anyway--but at some point, there has got to come a day where you look in the mirror and decide to get rid of the Fat Lady for good.