TYSM

Art & Vignette about someone in the right place, at the right time, simply putting things in perspective for someone not even expecting an epiphany.

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Right now? Breathing is such a chore.

I can only do it softly.

Slowly.

Through puckered lips.

Tonight, it was a bucket of fried chicken. Yes. The one intended for a family of four. Followed by cannolis, dashed directly from the Italian place at the end of my block. Simply because I felt like it.

And sure, my full, aching stomach might feel like a bomb, just ready to go off. But it was totally worth it.

After all, this is just the way I end up feeling most nights. I’m just lucky my tummy hasn’t ever done the thing bombs are supposed to do. Yet at least.

Actually, the amount of nights I spend stuffing my face these days, you’d think I’d know my limit by this point.

Eh. Who am I kidding?

I only ever consider stopping when it starts to get uncomfortable. And only push my plate away when I’m on the verge of stupor.

I just need a minute.

Okay, maybe a half hour. Then I’ll be right as rain.

All I can do right now is sit back, & breathe. Slow, steady, puckered breaths.

It’s nights like tonight I think of her.

It’s because of her I’m like this now.

-

It was two years ago. Around the holidays.

In fairness, it was probably, I dunno, Top Five “Me-at-my-drunkest” Nights ever. Which, taking so many rush & pledge weeks into account? Is really saying something.

Who knows, maybe being inebriated like that, her words carried more… gravitas for me?

Anyway, I used much, much skinnier back then. Not that I was actually skinny even, just…

Look, I was running myself absolutely ragged. I mean I had spent all my life fighting the fact that I was naturally “big-boned.” And going back as far as middle school, I struggled to do everything I could to try & convince everyone I wasn’t.

Salads at every meal. Unless I skipped a meal. Regularly overdoing it at the gym. If I were to take two seconds to think about it, I would’ve recognized I wasn’t exactly happy. So I just did everything in my power to not ever think about it.

Of course I recognize it now as textbook dysmorphia, along with a fair bit of anxiety. Wound way too tightly. And it was all low key enabled partially by my sorority sister ‘friend’ Gianna, who not only had an even more insane fitness regimen than I did at the time, but happened to be the very same friend I was out with that night, clubbing it up.

I’ll be honest, most of that night prior? All a blur.

What I do remember? We were out dancing & a male coworker of Gianna’s showed up. He seemed nice but Gianna, with her ridiculously high standards, wanted no part of him. So we were trying to make ourselves scarce while considering our next destination. At one point, she had asked me to go to the ladies’ room with her, where she somehow got onto the topic of her older sister’s pregnancy.

I remember were leaving the stalls & met up at the mirror, fixing ourselves up. And while it was a little like Grand Central Station in there, Gianna, continued the story of how her sister ate every last one of her low fat Oreos without asking at full volume. She was saying something to the extent of “No wonder why that cow’s gotten so fuckin’ huge! She just WILL NOT STOP EATING!” in her usual, judgy tone.

“I mean she’s turning that food into a child though,” I vaguely remember saying, feeling the fleeting need to defend her sister from Gianna’s ire, having been at the brunt of it myself once or twice before, despite my own desperate efforts.

“So what? MY Oreos.” She carried on as we started to check our makeup. “She can still waddle out & get her own! After all, she NEEDS the exercise.”

“Again, she’s pregnant.” I smirked. “Cut her some sla-“

That was the moment I saw her, leaving another one of the stalls out of the corner of my eye.

Tall. Dyed blond hair snipped into a bob. Wide hips swinging with a sultry, confident sway as she approached the mirror next to me in the almost painted-on cocktail dress her plush, matronly form seemed ready to spill right out of. The peak definition of ‘femininity.’ As well as ‘MILF.’

Already in drunken shambles before this, I tried to regather my thoughts.

“Cut her some slack,” I meagerly tried to continue, trying to not become a spectacle myself. Or stare. “Y’know a part of me just can’t wait to settle down, get pregnant.” I honestly didn’t even know what I was rambling at this point. “Have an excuse to eat whatever I want.”

I saw Gianna wind up for some sort of Gianna type dig at me for being ‘thicc.’ But hers wasn’t the next one I heard.

“Why wait til then?”

It was her. Responding to me, while staring directly ahead in the mirror as she pulled out some lipstick to reapply.

“Whaaa-?” I asked in kind of a slack-jawed stupor. Admittedly, I was put-off. Intimidated by her seemingly infinite amount of self-assuredness. Her ‘swagger’ for lack of a better term. There was something about the feminine, almost dainty way she carried herself. All while being so… sturdy.

“You never need an excuse. You could just eat like that today!” She chuckled, her smile so warm & so much more pleasant than Gianna had on offer, even as my supposed friend. “This very day.”

I let out a sharp, timid little chortle, at a complete lack of formulating anything else.

But Gianna wasn’t so impressed. Not only did this talk of indulgence run counter to her entire worldview, having this stranger first eavesdrop, then intrude on our conversation? Even though she was the one conducting it at volume? Her sharp features folded into that patented stinkface I was all too familiar with.

“But she’ll… get fat,” Stammered a seething Gianna. I didn’t know why it was specifically about me.

Caught in the crossfire of this, my eyes ping-ponged back to her, with the moment that continues to live rent-free in my head.

Unflustered, she finished tracing her lip with the lipstick before craning to look at Gianna’s reflection in the mirror.

“Oh no!” She feigned a gasp, following it with sarcastic lament. “What ever shall I do?” Only then she smacked her lips together to spread her lipstick, applying it perfectly before learning back.

“Big deal. Who cares? Have fun. Be fat! You’ll enjoy life so much more if you were to just chill the fuck out & embrace what you want. Promise.” In one smooth motion, she then chucked her capped lipstick back in the handbag she had resting by the sink, smiled another warm smile at me, this time accompanying it with a wink, & stepped out of the ladies room. All before Gianna could muster anything close to a reasonable retort. All she could do was mutter after the woman was already well outside of ear shot.

“No wonder she’s so fucking… so fucking…” she was trying to come up with a new, nastier way to say fat. But I cut her off.

“Hot?”

“Oh fuck you too,” Gianna growled. I snickered.

Gianna legitimately seemed pretty upset because she called it a night not too long after that. But in my walk home, I couldn’t get the woman’s mantra out of my mind. Even the next morning, once I had sobered up, albeit with quite the headache. The woman’s words ricocheted around the inside of my skull, over & over again.

“Big deal. Who cares? Have fun. Be fat.”

Like… maybe it was okay to indulge.

Who was I actually trying to impress? The likes of Gianna? Who has a comment for everything? Who cares? Big deal!

Why was I killing myself, restraining my meals to only salads. I wasn’t living!

So… I did it.

I indulged.

Slow at first.

Ok maybe not too slow.

But I treated myself to a bacon double cheeseburger that very next night. With avocado. And I was in sheer heaven! So I figured why stop there? I went back & washed it down with an extra large, extra thick strawberry shake. With extra whipped cream. I hadn’t had one in at least a decade, so I was woefully unfamiliar with the upgrades in milkshake technology. So delicious.

Suddenly it was like this whole new world had opened up to me. Even though I guess I was the one who had been closing myself off from it the whole time. Pizza, tacos, chicken AND waffles?! Everything I was too afraid to let myself enjoy, for years!

And you know what? That stranger in the bathroom was right. Let my inner glutton out, & frankly? I enjoyed just about every single bite. Without regret.

And sure. Yeah, okay. Maybe I’m not as… in shape as I was. To say the least.

Okay, fine.

I got fat.

Pretty fat.

Much fatter than her even. But she was right. I’m so much happier now than I ever was limiting myself.

I don’t know what became of her. Who knows if she’s still that plush Milf, or like me, she just kept eating with reckless abandon? Either way? I can only hope she’s still out there, somewhere, living her best life.

And if I ever got the chance to meet her again, I would thank her profusely.

Thank you so, so much, wherever you are!

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Sort of along the lines of these two pieces from a while back. I like the premise of someone being kind of unbound by society & confident enough to cause others to question broadly accepted notions, here particularly about gaining weight. And based a little around a conversation I overheard. The story portion was mostly written a while ago, with slight tweaks as I finished the art.

Also, the title serves a dual purpose, with a message to you! Thank you so much for the support & continued interest. My day job has been severely kicking my ass this year. And every time it seems like I’m going to get a little bit of free time, the carpet got ripped out from under me. So thank you for sticking with me!

Like I said previously, I’m looking to spend December continuing to playing catch up on long standing things I have hanging. So I’m going to get right back to it!