No that’s not your real name. You’ll probably never read this either. But since I don’t feel like having this conversation with you face to face, what does it matter what I call you?
Anyway, we’ve known each other for long enough to where I feel like we’re friends. You’ve been to my house, I’ve given you pepper jelly…
Given that we’re friends, you’ve probably come to terms with the fact that I am somewhat blunt – to a fault, probably. And as it turns out, you’re pretty outspoken as well, and that’s great. I respect that. So, we’re outspoken – that’s good. It’s good that I have a thick skin.
Except when I don’t. You said something the other day that kind of bothered me and I’ve been chewing it over since then. I think what bothers me is that although it hits a little close to home, I also think you were speaking misleadingly.
We were talking at dinner about what kinds of women you find appealing and you kept emphasizing you like “fit” women. Active, “fit” women. I think you must have said “fit” about seven times. What I believe you meant/wanted to say is that you like thin women, but you were seated next to a heavier woman and didn’t want to offend me.
It’s actually OK. Lots of men like thin women. Thin women can be very attractive. I personally prefer a man who is built for comfort rather than speed. It’s fine – you’re allowed to have that preference. That’s not what hurt my feelings.
Well, ok – I can’t lie – of course that hurt a little. Because what woman wouldn’t like to think that she’s everyone’s type, especially someone cute and funny?
But I already knew I wasn’t your type.
I knew that.
I also know I’m not skinny. I mean, duh. I’m sitting next to you in the booth, and I’m clearly a good, what, 50 pounds heavier than you? And I just revealed several minutes before that I’ve lost 43 pounds in the past year and have more to go. So, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out I’m not thin.
But the implication is that I’m not fit – and that’s where I take exception. I seem to recall that I was able to keep up with everyone in our group walking through DC. And that’s with a group of guys all taller than me.
I don’t smoke, I eat a healthy diet – I probably drink less than you. I may not play sports or climb rocks or know how to make a tent out of the entrails of a porcupine, but I take classes, and I work like a fiend in those classes. I’m plenty active too – I like to throw great parties, and I cook, garden and can. I go places and have a great social life.
Am I as fit as you? No, but I’d venture that I’m a lot healthier than you recognize. I also have worked harder to get here than you’ll ever understand.
Why were you afraid to say you like skinny girls? Did you think I’d sit on you? Were you worried that I’d try to steal your dinner, or that I’d smother you in my cleavage?
Were you worried you’d make me cry?
Because you did anyway, later.
I don’t mind acknowledging that I’m fat.
But I’ll be damned if I cop to being unfit.
PS – I’m glad you like that woman’s breast implants – they are nice – but they’re not natural. Those of us who have that cup size naturally are dying for a doctor to tell us it’s medically necessary to get a reduction. Because natural breasts that size aren’t riding high on waves of silicon. They’re strapped so tightly to our torso, it leaves permanent marks on our ribcages. It also makes me look less “fit” because I have to wear baggy clothes to accommodate them.