Leave now if you’re not in the mood for a profanity laced tirade over some fat woman in the airport. Seriously, this chick pissed me off.
Taking the easy way out? What the hell did she just say?
I am sitting on a plane, and an overweight woman sits across from me. She needs a seatbelt extender, but before she asks for one, she tells the stranger in the seat next to her that she has lost 53 pounds, and can’t wait until she doesn’t need one! Well, good for her, right?
Then the guy next to her says, “I’ve lost 50 pounds myself. I know how you feel.”
And the fat bitch says, “Did you do it the easy way, or did you have to work for it?’
I IMMEDIATELY know what she means. He does not. She clarifies by saying, “The easy way – you know, surgery.”
Pardon my current inability to demonstrate the incredible command I possess of the English language when I say, with all due respect, fuck you, lady. How dare you sit there, eating doughnuts, drinking soda, reading magazines about becoming a writer, and all the while you have as much tact and understanding as Rush Limbaugh at the Democratic Convention.
Because tell the truth. There is NOTHING easy about this. You assume because I lost 100 pounds without hiring Jillian Michaels to run my fat ass into the ground that I took the easy way out?
Again, fuck you, lady.
I know people don’t know. They can’t imagine what it’s like, four days post-op, barely able to drink a shot glass full of water, and your family orders pizza. You sit there with your head telling you that your first born could be sold into slavery in exchange for a slice of the cheesey goodness the rest of the family is enjoying. Your stomach wants to vomit. An ounce of water has convinced you that food will never again enter your body unless you are strapped down, being force fed with a funnel, but you want that pizza so badly, you would sell your soul and the souls of all the faithful departed in exchange for a small smackeral.
Miss “Easy Way Out” doesn’t get it that for a year, I ate only chicken soup. My hair fell out, and some of it never came back. My skin hangs and sags so that I get infections so itchy, painful, and smelly that I don’t even want to be in public sometimes. I travel with a tube of Desitin with me to help combat the uncomfortable rashes. How embarrassing is it to have a TSA agent look at you, with no diaper aged children, trying to get your Desitin through security?
How easy was it to drive home from my daughter’s class for 2 hours in excruciating pain, only to find out I wasn’t having a particularly horrid episode of dumping? It was my small bowel, twisting around itself, begging for emergency surgery in order to save my life. I missed Eilis’ sixth birthday party. I spent a week in the hospital on IV nutrition only and gained 10 pounds. How’s that for “easy” Miss Doughnut Eating Witch?
Let’s talk about choking down barely palatable protein shakes, washing down fistfuls of vitamins and supplements, and still ending up anemic, with osteoporosis and mulitple vitamin deficiencies.
Have you ever sat in a chair on your birthday and cried because you realized you couldn’t have birthday cake anymore? Have you had to sit in a movie theater while the family munches on delicious buttered popcorn, knowing you couldn’t enjoy it with them? Have you ever walked up to receive Communion at Mass and wondered if the Body of Christ was going to land you on the bathroom floor, puking your guts up?
So sit there in your seat belt extended chair, shove more doughnut into your face, and tell people how you are losing weight the right way.
Oh – and you wanna be a writer? Let me give you some advice. Open your mind, shut your mouth, and do your research. Life isn’t about how you PERCEIVE things, it’s about how you LIVE them. If you haven’t walked a mile in my shoes, don’t tell me how much my feet hurt.