Some days are harder than others. Maybe it's cuz my shirt's too small. Or, maybe it's because it's so warm out. Or, maybe I feel fat, just because I've been eating so much. Nah, couldn't be that.
Could it? Has all the night time ice cream finally caught up with me? My war with portion size continues, but as I look around, I see plenty of people who are not winning the war—because they never had to enter it in the first place. You see these people all the time. Skinny and smiling, fitted t-shirt hanging loose around their torsos, they gobble up grilled cheese sandwiches, French fries, and milk shakes all at once, a sublime combination I still remember being introduced to by my mom at a downtown lunch counter when I was a kid. I'd better remember it, because I'll never have any of those things together again. Or, even separately, for that matter.
And, here, sitting outside under an umbrella to block the sun, a big gal has just shown up at the cafe. She is lucky to be a lesbian, right? For a number of reasons, but this is one of the only groups that welcomes individuals whose body fat is higher than 10 percent. Her big-boned body, tattooed, pierced, and with a proud gut, could win many lesbian beauty contests. Good for her, but that is also why I am so thrown by her order at the counter.
A banana and a bottle of water is all she comes away with. No, not a banana fritter. No, not a slice of banana cream pie. A real old fashioned, picked from the tree banana. And, no, not a coke, but a water. Not even sparkling water. Just plain old water.
That is really depressing. Are even the big lesbians feeling the pressure to adjust their body images? Has everyone succumbed? Do we really need more Cameron Diaz clones? Do we really need the actual Cameron Diaz?
Now, her friend has arrived. 'I'm sorry I started to eat without you.' A banana? You're sorry to have started eating your banana before your friend has arrived? That's awfully considerate, but—a banana?
Hopefully, the friend (even more tattoos, a motorcycle helmet, and a bigger stomach) will return with at least one of the cookies or muffins. Maybe a nice slice of the flourless chocolate cake or a scoop or two of the gelato. Please, don't disappoint me.
The bearded guy who has joined them must be gay, but why does he have a stomach too? Why is he eating the big meal? Pasta salad and juice? Is that actually a roll he is eating? White flour? Has he just come back from a year in the Antarctic, unaware of the danger of the carbs he is ingesting?
Is this Opposite Day? Has the world gone crazy?
Oh, wait. Here comes the second lesbian, back from the counter, with a creamy coffee drink, covered in whipped cream, and a big ol' cheesy ham panini for her friend. And the guy? Well, his homemade t-shirt says TRANSGENDER GUYS SUPPORT DYKES. Of course. He is still adjusting to his life as a man, with the old physical form of the lesbian he was. Plus, he's straight now, so as a straight man, he can eat whatever the hell he wants to.
For a fleeting moment I am envious of straight boys. They can eat their Doritos and their potato skins. They can chow down on cheeseburgers with cheese fries, a regular coke, and, hell, why not, one more burger. They can get fat and soft and shapeless and no one cares. Not only does no one care, people actually expect it. Straight men can eat anything.
Just look at TV. Jim Belushi is married to a hot blond on his godawful show, while on The King of Queens, Kevin James is married to skinny Leah Remini. Still Standing? Y'know, the one where the other fat guy is married to Jamie Gertz. This isn't real life, right? It's just TV.
It's not real life? Just look around you. How often do you really see a fat woman married to a fit fella? Those straight boys have it made.
But, then I come to my senses. No straight life for me. For all the fried foods and carbs and cheese and pasta they can eat, there's one thing that they can never eat, that I can. Dick. And, I know I've got the better deal.
