Why do some Antiguan people think it’s their God-given duty to police your weight? Trust me, if I’ve put on a few pounds I’m usually the first to know about it. And besides, who says that I’m not trying out a heavier weight to see whether or not it agrees with me? I know lots of people who say that some women are still pretty – even though they’re fat.
Listen. Having to compare myself to them damn celebrities with their exercise trainers and personal chefs is bad enough. I don’t need the added pressure from every Joe Blow and Sister Flo who seem to have appointed themselves the keepers of my size. The only person who needs to concern herself with my weight fluctuations is my seamstress, because she’s the one who will have to make my dresses with enough room to spare when she has to let them out.
Back in high school, I couldn’t get past 100 pounds. No matter how much sugar I ate or calories I imbibed, my back and my buttocks were one and the very same. I wasn’t looking for anything near what Nicki Minaj is endowed with, but a little definition would have been nice.
Getting some of what I wished for about twenty years later was great until I realized that everything else got bigger too. I saw that it was easy to climb up that ladder, but a little more difficult when I was ready to come back down. So every morning I get up early – as my husband says – to “jump around”.
For the last three years now, I’ve been working on losing those last ten pounds. Sometimes it increases to fifteen, and if I’ve had a gastronomically enjoyable few weeks, it gets up to twenty. So I lose ten pounds and find myself back where I started – needing to lose those last ten pounds. Maybe that’s why my daughter encourages me to keep working out – because she’s not seeing anything different.
…Unless you catch me on the higher end of the scale.
Last week, I greeted someone I knew who was around my mother’s age. She was moving rather slowly, so I said hello and moved on. I was several yards ahead and almost out of earshot, when, because she was able to get a good look at my retreating back, she sang out, ”You’re getting fat”.
Mistaking my disregard of her comment for being unable to hear her, she called out to me again. And I wondered why. So that she could shout her “greeting” once more and wait for me to agree with her observation? Or was she hoping that I would say that I was trying to join the club that she was already in? But since my momma taught me better than that, I just put her on ignore, instead.
She wasn’t the first, and she won’t be the last person who thinks that if she doesn’t tell me what she’s noticed, I’ll actually go around thinking that I’m fine just the way I am – extra pounds and all. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that some people will always comment when I gain a few pounds, which I don’t mind. But it’s funny how they turn blind and dumb when I happen to lose them.
What’s up with that?