Lady-Likes

I've been eating really badly for the last... I don't know, thirty years?  No, to be serious, the past two weeks have been wretched, and as a result of a high fat, low fiber culinary carbfest, my innards are a little uncooperative.  As a result, I purchased some "gentle, overnight relief" that is marketed to ladies.  Because if I'm going to take a pill, I want it to be pink, fast and feminine.

Mother's little helper.

Tangentially adjacent to that is a little challenge that's making the rounds on Twitter.  Apparently, some guy posted a piece of writing where he was writing in first person as a woman, describing herself.  And a female writer (Gwen Katz) found it and skewered him.  Here are a few of his finer passages:

So the challenge went out on Twitter - describe yourself as a male writer would.

Here is what I tweeted:

(1/3)
She was completely forgettable, if you even noticed her in the first place. She was fat enough that you were aware she was taking up too much space, but not so fat that she should just stay home.  

(2/3)
Her breasts were large, sure, but in proportion with the rest of her shape, nothing special. Her wild, graying hair was unkempt, and her makeup, when she bothered to wear it, was inexpertly applied. 

(3/3)
She dressed haphazardly in clothes she either liked or felt sorry for - it was never clear. Comfort was her byword. She liked to feed people, and make them laugh. She was adequate at both.

   
And the thing is, I don't think any of that is a stretch.  I think most men passing me on the street wouldn't think twice about me.  My appeal is most evident once you meet me.  I prefer it that way.  That way, if we're pals, I know it's based on substance and not style alone.  

And I don't think that I'm being harsh or unkind.   

But then, I got a text from one of my (male) friends asking about my "crazy tweet storm".  I asked if he was referring to customer service complaint I had lobbed at Target earlier in the day (wait for it, that's another story), or the twitter challenge.  I said that either way, it was indicative that I need to get better about taking my meds.  Truth.

His reply was, "Those other tweets are not accurate at all.  Nothing average about you".

Now, this is a guy I have known for about five years.  I'm friends with him, his wife and their daughter.  I love all three of them - but he and I used to work together, and I think he's a terrific guy.  But let's be honest - he loves me because he knows me.  It still makes me feel like a million bucks, though.  

So, back to the other crazy tweet.  I ran to Target at lunch because I was thinking I could use a cardigan, and I thought they probably had a cheap option for me.

Well, the plus size section was in disarray, and I asked the woman working on some of the displays why the department had gotten smaller.  She assured me that it was the same size as always, but that because summer clothes are a lighter weight, there appears to be less selection.  I assured her that I had been dressing in plus sizes for twenty years, and I understood how textiles work, but that the selection was definitely diminished.  I mean, honey, I'm fat, not stupid.  So, piss off.  I decided to tweet my experience and corporate was sufficiently apologetic.  Their response was heavily boilerplate, but at least it didn't accuse me of not understanding retail.  I worked at Macy's - I know what the difference between sparse racks and reduced square footage looks like.  

I feel vindicated...ish.

And for what it's worth, I found a fine little cardi at the Walmart this afternoon.  In the straight sizes section, because they carry a XXL, and knits stretch.  See, I do understand the fundamentals of schmatte.

After leaving Target in a quasi-huff, I ended up at Panera, because it was there.  I ordered a soup/sandwich combo, and picked up cookies for my team,  because I am awesome.  When I got back, I realized I had completely missed an internal meeting about a project we are starting next week.  My boss and colleague decided they were going to bust my ovaries about it because they can, and because we dish it out pretty constantly among ourselves.  I was already feeling sweaty and crazy, and forgetting a meeting didn't really help my angst, but within a few minutes, I was laughing and eating cookies with my team, and all was right in the world.

But I'm skipping ahead of myself.  As I was waiting for my meal at Panera, there was this pair of ladies ahead of me - a white woman in her 70s, and a younger Asian woman in her 30s.  The older woman is talking to the prep folks at the counter and telling them it's her friend's first experience with a bread bowl, and how exciting that is, and how it's a big deal, and she can't wait for her to try it, and so on.  After they leave, I'm talking with the counter staff, and we all kind of marvel at her excitement.  I mention that you never really forget your first bread bowl, much like your virginity.  Only it's better.  More satisfying.  The counter guy (who is a manager) tells me I'm his new favorite customer.  We all agree that bread bowls are great, but messy, and typically more bread than you can eat, and that we would rather have more soup.  

Honestly, it was a weird day.  Emotional, tiring, funny, crazy, silly, frustrating, and exhausting.  And good?  Good.  I think.

I mean, not first-time-bread-bowl good, but we do what we can, don't we?

Love you, mean it.

ae