Note to reader
I was totally researching ways to pack small over the weekend as I checked stores online for tiny, TSA approved bottles I can stash in my carry on. Then I had an experience which I thought the community who reads this blog would be more interested in, laugh at, or perhaps even get pissed off at.
I still think about it, and I still can not decide whether I should write it off as something silly and unimportant or as something that is so deeply engraved in all the societies I know that it will take years and years more of effort to overcome. The word is fat, the subject is people who use it nonchalantly, and people who are crushed at hearing it in their perfect size 4 bodies.
Despite all its negative reputation for housing the largest concentration of blond, blue-eyed **tches dressed in Uggs and skinny jeans as they stroll on Chestnut looking for their next meal ticket, I love the Marina district in San Francisco.
It is close to the water, and it houses all my essential needs including the grocery store, the nail salon, my favorite restaurants, one of the best coffee shops in SF, the independent bookstore, the bank, my gym, and some of my favorite shops, all within a stretch of five blocks.
And I will be the first to proudly admit that, given the opportunity, I would neither mind passing as a Marina mom nor a Marina bitch, minus the blond hair, the blue eyes, Ugss and, definitely minus the skinny jeans, if I had keys to a house on the main stretch on the way to Golden Gate bridge. Definitely a dream not-come-true in the foreseeable future, but perhaps one day in la la land.
It is also where I witness the most ridiculous and the most interesting experiences in my life. Ones that can make me even empathize with the Marina **tch!
On Sunday, I saw a friend of mine I had not seen in about seven months. As she and I were walking behind these two other women in front of us, we witnessed a couple of drunk guys come from the other direction. One of them tripped and literally ran into one of the women who soon enough shrieked:
"Excuse me!"
As she stepped back in pain since the guy had left his footprints on her open-toed sandals. Unable to fully comprehend exactly what happened due to his highly influenced state, the guy chose the sweet talk route and went:
"Nice hair!"
which was reciprocated with a very mean and disinterested look at which point the guy yelled:
"I don't care, you are fat anyway!"
Disbelief and disgust settled on her face and her eyes quickly started checking her outfit as her hands fixed it here and there. She turned to her friend and went:
"Did he just call me fat?"
In an effort to just carry on with their day and not let a couple of drunk idiots ruin it for them, the friend made a confirming gesture, yet shied from saying it out loud.
Still in shock with her mouth wide open, the woman went:
"I am not fat!"
The friend tried to calm her down.
"Of course you are not. What does it matter what he said anyway, he was just upset because you didn't give him the time of the day. His pride was hurt so he got back at you and called you fat. He could have called you a lesbian or an idiot. What does it matter?"
"I would rather be called a lesbian or an idiot then called fat!"
My friend and I (proud Mills graduates where you have the fat, the idiot as well as the super smart, and the lesbian under one roof all getting along just fine) looked at each other as if Patsy and Edina from Absolutely Fabulous were live in front of our very own eyes and could not decide whether we should console the woman, burst out in laughter or run after the drunkard and give him a piece of our minds and heels.
And with that I leave it up to you. Have men discovered a secret book to women's insecurities with a list of triggers that will make a woman ruin an otherwise perfectly nice Sunday afternoon by dwelling on what some drunk idiot just shouted at her?
Or are we, as women, with all our hard-earned rights and liberties, and so called independence and confidence, still live in the Victorian ages in our heads?
TillnextTime
The Fashionistique
A man won't date higher than a size 12, and will even say so in a online ad. That bodies vary so widely in our culture to the point I honestly doubt any man can tell the size of a woman just by looking at her, it's the MENTAL thing which is the issue here - anything bigger than a size 12 MUST be fat, and a fat woman cannot possibly be desirable.
So yes, it's one of the worst insults a man can make, and a foolish woman will be stung by it.
An amusing but sad story...but still, can we have a bit less of the hate on the thin women, as well? Anyone so insecure to faint in horror at being called fat deserves pity, not vitriol.
crushed by 3 little letters, how strong are we?
I use the word fat all the time, as a descriptive, not a perjorative word.
I describe myself as fat and myfriends fall over themselves saying "Oh, you AREN'T FAT! Don't say that!"
My reply is "Well, I am 5'6" tall and weigh 240 lbs. I think that fits the category of fat!" and then
they'll say something like, "Yeah but you always look good and dress cool, no THINKS of you as fat!" So, I try to say, "Exactly." I point out that "fat", "slob" and "loser" are not the same thing.
But, *sigh* I don't know if I ever will win this battle of the "F-word." I'm trying to get the word "fat"
to lose its power and poison, but no one seems interested or able to let it just be a word, like "red" or
"long."
A little girl came up to me and said "You're FAT!" and I said, "Yes, I am!", and nothing else.
She looked so disappointed that her poison word arrow didn't faze me, it was funny. Hopefully I will
have taken away some of the power of the "F-word" with that exchange. So, am I fooling myself?