The F Word That Nobody Likes To Hear

Sometimes, just sometimes, barring the medical conditions, the medications, the pregnancies,  the contraceptives and whatever else that i’m missing; you are just too fat. 

And sometimes, it’s okay to tell someone they’re fat and it’s not fat or body shaming. Not that they’re fat as fuck or they look like a fat piece of shit but just “you’re fat.’

And while this still probably warrants a ‘mind your own fucking business’ or ‘I don’t give a fuck’ what you think. Or a snarky sarcastic comeback, I am totally fine if someone comments on my weight.

I am confident and love myself enough to have that mirror talk where I tell myself how much of a fat piece of shit  I’ve become (only I am allowed to refer to myself that way) and not feel any less of a beautiful woman inside and out.

Granted we aren’t created equal and there are things like low self-esteem, lack of confidence and a host of psychological issues that can explain the clitoral level hypersensitivities of some people, but I mean ‘cmon’, sometimes you have to call a spade a spade.

A few posts back I came on here talking about how pumped I was to lose some weight to fit into a gorgeous dress by November.

Well November is here, and as I am sitting here typing this, my belly is resting on my lap ( I can still see my vagina though).

My arms are stuffed into my uniform jacket like sausage in its casing (is this what a straight jacket feels like?), my bra bulge looks like two titties on my back and don’t even get me started on my back fat.

Needless to say, I am fat; actually, I am 10 lbs fatter.

I am aware of this weight, I am aware that I need to get it off (I’ve started working out and eating healthy(ish) again) for me, and no one else. For me because it feels uncomfortable, not because society says I need to be this size or that size.

For me, not because I care what you think about the way my muffin hangs over my jeans. For me because I’d prefer not to giggle every time I move. For me, because I don’t want to risk taking flight when I flag down a bus (taxi, uber, trans, don’t know; what do you call your public transportation?).

For me, not because the pictures on the magazine look perfect, for me and no one else but ME. 

I am aware of the health risks that it poses and I am also aware that the weight didn’t magically grow on me when I wasn’t looking, so I own it.

I own the fact that eating and over-eating a ton of shit brought me to this stand off with my scale and my freaking dusty dumbbells.

Is it a vanity thing? Is it a shallow thing? Because apparently wanting to see a 10 pack instead of an apron of fat, eating a salad instead of a heart attack  burger (there is actually a cheeseburger called that here) somehow turns you into a narcissistic  hypochondriac.

I want to lose weight not because I don’t love my body or hate myself or want to look like someone else or have the same ass like someone else but because I love my body and realistic enough to know that I need to lose weight.

Aside from those things, there are a ton (no not really a ton) of clothes in my closet that still have their tags on because I can’t fit into them. God damit I want to fit into them so ‘baddddddlaayyyy.’

I don’t care what you look like, what color you are or how many rolls you have on your waist. Unless you’re a fuchsia alien with rolls and rolls of tiny  fuchsia aliens on your waistline I don’t care.

But! if you generally eat like a pig (like me, kinda) and have a sedentary lifestyle and you wake up fat why do I have to be politically correct and tip-toe around the F-word? The only issue there is whether or not I’d give a shit about what you think.

What about you? What do you think about the whole ‘fat’ (non)-issue? Let me know in the comments :).