It wasn't me--this time--that had to answer this question with a negative. Thank goodness my belly fat has never been poochie enough that anyone ever mistook me for anything but a plain ole porker. But yesterday, I was standing by helping one of the cashiers at Whole Foods bag groceries when it happened.
We'll call her Lynn. Lynn is another one of those girls who's face declares to the world that a true knockout lay buried beneath the fatty coating. But she, like so many of us silly 20s,30s and 40s-something would-be hotties has neglected her temple upkeep...very badly.
In short, she's fat.
At 275 pounds (which she admitted to me after this happened) she is technically "morbidly obese" and she's at the point where there is just too much extra poundage to "carry it well" anymore. Consequently, much of it has gathered around her waist and on her belly. So yesterday, you can feel her humiliation and hurt when a guest asked "When are you due?"
Gasping softly, I held my breath then as Lynn replied "Due for what?"
The inquisitive guest (aka nosy self-esteem shattering twit) looked a little less certain of herself, but opted to persist in her course. "When is your baby due?" she shrilled with a nod toward Lynn's belly for vindication. Her tone said "Like, DUH!"
I looked over as Lynn bowed her head for a moment to hide her eyes--which must have been brimming with shame, anger & hurt--from this tall, leggy & lovely thin blonde and her very handsome companion. Lynn's face was flushing pink fast.
Inside of me, a little sob threatened. I just felt her pain so acutely & wanted to stalk over and shake, slap and generally assault the ninny who just HAD to go there with Lynn.
Finally, Lynn, never looking back up at the girl, informed her she was not pregnant. Nosy Rosy said nothing more than "oh" and asked no further questions.
After the hottie and her boyfriend had left, Lynn went to the restroom for 15 minutes. You and I can probably divine what she was doing there.
Sad as it is, I want to look at this from a more hopeful standpoint.
Maybe this will be the final lash Lynn needs to commit to taking better care of herself. And maybe, once she gets started, taking just little steps at first, she'll keep turning her mind back to the memory of this moment and let it fan her fury to change. That's what I hope...for dear Lynn and for any other poor girl some jerk decides to inflict the same experience on.
Meanwhile, what have we learned? Never, never, never, never, ever ask a chick when she is due to deliver her child OR make any assumptions she is pregnant unless:
a) she tells you she is pregnant,
b) you receive an invitation to her baby shower, or
c) you are witnessing the child actually coming out of her womb.
Any other time and she may just be a bit of a chunky-dunk like me or Lynn and you risk seriously hurting her feelings and looking like a complete jerk.
Understood? Good. Now let's send some thoughts of encouragement and love to the Lynn's out there and wish them a swift escape from the prison of an unhealthy body. And if you're like me (the padded version of yourself) give some of that encouragement and love to yourself, too.
Go on. Give yourself a hug--right now--and say out loud, "I am a naughty & nice gorgeous lady, I love me & I am worth the effort to eat better & move more."
Kisses & hugs!