I was six the first time someone called me fat. I was sporting my favorite Rainbow Bright swimsuit with a frilly top at the local pool, casually working on my Thriller moves, and waiting in line for my turn to dive (or spastically belly-flop) off the diving board. I was crushed. Until my older sister stepped up, pointed at the kid and said, “well… your nose is so big it looks like you have a deformed penis growing out of your stupid face!” God bless her. Where would we be without siblings?
(Check out this real-life penis nose. Poor guy.)
I’m sad to admit – I am the ugly duckling of my family. The odd one out. The spare. My sister and brother were born with skinny genes and have an innate love for physical fitness. They wake up every day at 5 am, hit the gym, down their disgusting spinach smoothies and egg whites, then go about their day at work. In Blair’s world – it’s a struggle. I was not graced with a good metabolism or the love of getting super sweaty and peeling my smelly clothes off every day. When I wake up, it’s to visions of strawberry-frosted donuts holding hands and wading through a pool of chocolate and licking whipped cream off each other. It takes every ounce of my being to get those thoughts out of my head. Every. Morning.
After decades, my doctors finally gave me some answers and we found a ‘way of eating’ that would agree with my body. Sadly, it has to be alcohol-free, caffeine-free, low-carb and sugar-free. So when I step up to your counter and ask for a decaf coffee with sugar-free peppermint, sugar-free vanilla, and two Splendas, I don’t need your eye-roll. I don’t need the sigh of exasperation, or the side glance to your coworker. I don’t drink this overpriced crap because I want to. I’m not trying to be a difficult because it’s fun.
I have no choice, Skinny Bitch. I hope one day you’re forced to only eat salad for two meals every day.
(Yes, I know skinny people have medical issues too.)