Big Girls Don’t Cry

I’m jump starting 2019 by taking a month or two to focus on eating the way my body needs me to. It’s a diet, and also not a diet, I don’t count calories, I don’t worry about serving sizes, I don’t obsessively fast, though I have been known to occasionally fast out of sheer laziness.

I will lose a few pounds when during this focused healthy period, and I’ll enjoy it, but despite not always liking pictures of myself, I am happy with my corporal form a good bit of the time.

Today, I felt like a pretty sweatshirt-ed princess when I left the house in my stupid dress with a hood (it’s stupid, but I love it) and my clogs because my old lady feet hurt. I had a pleasant morning (ok, it was afternoon but it’s the weekend) eating a sandwich with enough egg and avocado that I may or may not have gotten it in my hair and drinking a fancy coffee surrounded by strangers doing the same thing.

After I took my notebook filled with meal plans and a grocery list to the store. I girded my loins for the spin through the produce (only two people got huffy, one of them was an old man who rammed me with his tiny cart, I figured he needed celery before death caught up to him and let it go).

Halfway through the shop I stopped in an aisle where no one was shopping but two people where restocking and checked off my list. As one of the people came close I told her, “If I’m in your way,just shove me out.” This is a joke that my mother taught me, it’s up there with such classics as “it’s not scanning, it must be free!” and “what kind of bees sting ghosts*?”I didn’t expect her to laugh. But I also didn’t expect her response:

“I don’t know, you’re kind of a big girl.”

And she kept walking. I just stood there grinning and nodding because I was struck dumb, just crossing all the veg off my list and texting people about what had happened. I know my reaction was wrong because when I was staring at the canned tomatoes wondering if I needed these for anything while the tips of my ears and my nose glowed.

Big girls don’t cry, though.

If this happens to you, and it shouldn’t even if you are 900 pounds and/or seven feet tall, you should react better than me. Don’t let the bitch get away with her hatefulness, you are not the problem in her life, yet.

If this happens to you, you can:

  1. Punch them (which is what everyone asked me if I had done, what was expected of me and now I’ve disappointed these people)
  2. Shriek then punch them
  3. Throw things from the top shelf at them
  4. Kick them with your less than dainty hoof
  5. Ask them to repeat it, again, and again, and again (I do this with cat-callers it makes my bosom swell to hear how dumb it sounds after the third or fourth time)
  6. Give your exaggerated secondary sex characteristics a hug (may feel weird but they deserve all the love, because I’m sure you spent years hating them and they don’t deserve that)
  7. Tell them to suck your dick

But do not cry. Big girls don’t cry.

*Boobies

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