Skip to content
August 15, 2013 / MissSteele

Woman, What Beautiful Fat Rolls You Have

Why do people insist on saying things to me that I do not believe they would ever say to anyone else? I’m not sure if it’s because I have one of those faces where people assume they can confide in me (big mistake, as I am now writing about it), or maybe it’s because they see my train wreck of a life and think – well, who the fuck is she to judge?

 Either way, people like to tell me information that I would rather not know. Many times this information comes from complete strangers, by the way. For example, one lovely day I was walking through my college campus and bumped into a girl who lived a couple doors down from me in the dorms. I tried to be friendly (because I heard that was the thing to do so people don’t mistake you for a heinous bitch), so I said, “Hey! How are you?”

I was thinking that maybe she and I could make small talk like normal folks might. Instead, her eyes became wide and crazy and she exclaimed, “Oh my God! My roommate is such a freak! She lies in her bed and fingers herself while I am in there!”

After I had a moment to process what had happened, I was emotionally traumatized. All I wanted was to make simple conversation with this girl and instead I was forced to replay images of her chubby roommate furiously masturbating beneath her comforter with onlookers fleeing in horror. I just wanted to share a pleasant “hello” with this seemingly approachable individual. What I did not want was to hear stories about her roommate slapping on her snatch.

Don’t get me wrong, nothing brightens my day more than hearing a strange story. It breaks up the mundane cycle of life and it’s so much more fun than hearing about my neighbor’s hyperthyroidism for the 15th time.  Strangeness is entertaining. But, when a story like this is used as an introduction when first meeting a complete stranger, it can be a bit odd.

Then, I began to wonder what compelled her to blurt this out to me. Would she have said that to anyone else?  For all I know, she could have had an over-sharing complex. Perhaps when her professor said, “Let’s go around the room and share a little something about ourselves,” she responded with, “I have a roommate who pokes her own poon-poon constantly, even while I am in the room.”

Unfortunately for me, she wasn’t the first or the last person to over-share with me.  Once when I was purchasing some shaving cream at Walmart, the cashier proceeded to tell me that she never shaves her leg hairs until they are so long they get caught in the sheets. Yes, a cashier told me this. A woman I did not know said this to me. And from the looks of her, she was being truthful.

Another woman I met while in line at a festival overheard me make a comment about forgetting my underwear (a joke, mind you) and took upon herself to tell me that she always wears underwear now. She took my awkward silence as an invitation to continue talking, so she proceeded to explain to me that she didn’t wear underwear with a skirt one time because she was going on a “sexy picnic” with her man. Anyway, while she was sitting on the grassy knoll with her beaver hanging out a cockroach crawled up into it.

Once again…this story was told to me by a stranger. I didn’t even know this person’s name and she was sharing more mortifying information with me than I do with my own friends.

My family is no different, of course. They feel the need to share everything with me, even when I beg for mercy. My aunt insists on telling me about the sexual escapades of her past, like “Bob” the male stripper who was built like Clydesdale…everywhere. And that is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to her over-disclosure. I would tell you more, but it took me years of therapy to build up a wall in my mind big enough to hold back those memories and I cannot afford for it to crumble.

My aunt isn’t the only person who insists on telling me every detail of their sex life when I wish to God they wouldn’t. I once worked with this girl who would often reveal stories to me about her grotesque adventures in the bedroom.  Once, she told me that her boyfriend gave her a “step stool” for their anniversary. Like a naive dumbass, I asked, “Why?”

And I wish to God I hadn’t.

She responded with, “Oh, because he is so large I have to hang one leg off the bed when we have sex. He got me a step stool so I have something to stand on.”

By the way, she didn’t mean “large” as in he is “blessed” in the pants. She meant “large” as in obese.

How sweet of him.

She then also proceeded to tell me that he probably should just go ahead and buy her a poncho and some goggles as well. That was the moment I decided our conversation had gone from too-much-information to I-need-a-priest-and-some-rubbing-alcohol. I absolutely refuse to explain this one, so if you don’t understand this, just consider yourself lucky and move on.

As cringe-worthy as some sex tales can be, they are not always the worst things people say to me. Sometimes it is just the people who think they can say whatever the hell they want to me and I will be fine with it. For example, when I was 12-years-old, step-dad took me to visit his grandmother. These were the physically awkward years of my life, I wasn’t exactly in my prime of beauty. I had acne, braces and poorly-styled hair. So, imagine how thrilled I was when I walked through the door and Granny yelled, “Girl, you as big as a cow!”

Now, who thinks that is appropriate to tell a 12-year-old girl? And don’t say, “Well, she was old. You know how the elderly can be when they get senile.”

No. She was not senile. She was still spry and kickin’. Trust me.

My step-father, who could tell I was humiliated and distraught over this, tried to soothe me by saying, “Well, you know she can’t see that well anymore. Maybe she just really thought you were an actual cow.”

Oh, yes! That made me feel LOADS better. Nothing really makes a 12-year-old girl’s self-esteem bottle-rocket to the sky like someone mistaking her for a farm animal.

That was almost worse than the time in middle school when Marshall Toy told me that he bet I looked like “Chewbacca in a bathing suit”.

Or, the time a woman at my yard sale told me she couldn’t buy any of my clothes because they would “drown” her. I hope you are reading this, lady. And if you are, you ma’am, are an asshole.

Of course, the worst people about calling you fat are other fat people. For whatever reason, fat people think it’s OK to point out that you are fat as well. I already know I am on the plump side. I’m apparently fat, not blind.

Several women have said to me, “Us big girls gotta stick together” and “Us real women know how to eat.”

Excuse me? Who the fuck told you it was OK to remind me I was fat? I was actually having a good day until I saw your big ass and you just had to go and lump me in that category with you. Damn!

Once, I was describing another woman to a friend and said she was “heavy-set” and she asked, “Like you and me?”

I always knew I was on the “fuller” side, but these people were making me feel like a real Large Marge.

Good gracious, people! If I wanted to be reminded of how fluffy I am, I would visit family!

While my voluptuous brethren have a tendency to remind me that I could stand to lose a few pounds, men are the absolute worst about it. Now, I’m not talking about straight-up assholes who see a group of overweight girls walk into bar and say, “I’m goin’ hoggin’!”

No, I’m talking about guys who hit on me by saying things like, “I like my girls a little thicker,” and “I like a woman with some meat on her bones.”

They may as well just walk up to me and say, “Girl, I am diggin’ the way your back-fat looks in that shirt. And you are rockin’ that muffin-top.”

I understand that when a guy says to me, “I love a woman with curves,” he means it in the nicest way possible. He intends it to be a compliment, but what I hear is, “I admire your fat rolls.”

I even had a guy stop me at a bar, look me up and down, and say, “Guurrrrllll, you’s as thick as peanut butter.”

Nice. Nothing gets me going like a guy acknowledging my weight problem.

Advertisements

2 Comments

Leave a Comment
  1. snoogiefisk / Aug 15 2013 7:44 pm

    Thanks for making me laugh today!

    • S. Steele / Aug 15 2013 7:49 pm

      Aw, thank YOU for making my day with that comment!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: