The Fatslayer Chronicles

Today's Fatslaying Workout Nothing.

Today's Weight 206.5.0lbs

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It would be interesting to do a study to see if people with a sweet tooth gravitate to work in offices, or whether office work is so soul-destroyingly dull that people turn to a quick sugar fix to get them through the day. Whatever the reason, I’ve been an office-based worker for the past fifteen years, and every one of those offices has been like a sugar junkie’s dream, with a constant and ever-changing array of goodies on offer in the ‘Office Sweetie Tin’.

Since I started this job I’ve given the sweetie tin a wide berth. I’ve filled it up plenty of times (I’m part of the team, so it’s expected of me), but I’ve never once snaffled any of its contents. To be honest, I never even think about it really – I’ve designated it a personal No-Go-Zone, and that’s the end of the matter. So it’s not as if I cast longing glances in its direction, or dribble uncontrollably when my colleagues sit there chowing down on its contents the whole live-long day. [Yes, these are the same colleagues mentioned in yesterday’s post, who berate fat poor folks for being….duh….fat and poor. I never said they weren’t hypocrites. But I digress….]

In the way of office life everywhere, my colleagues are aware that I’m trying to lose weight and get into shape. You can’t keep a secret like that in an office – it’s against the rules. It also seems to be against the rules for them to just let me get on with it. I don’t think a single day has gone by when they haven’t commented on my lunch (how healthy and modest it is), my lack of sweetie eating (seen almost as a personal affront), my lunchtime walks (you’re very committed…). Jeezus! It does my friggin’ head in!

One colleague is older than I by three months. She’s exactly the same height as I am. I weigh (currently) 206.5lbs. She weighs 96.5lbs (despite having three children). She panics when she gains an ounce, and is saving up for liposuction ‘cos she’s got such a fat arse. Yeah, right. This lunchtime, apropos of absolutely nothing, she turned to me and said loudly: “I don’t think you should lose any more weight. You’re absolutely fine as you are – you won’t be ‘you’ if you get any skinnier…”.

I counted to 10 before replying. For one thing I HATE being put on the spot and made to discuss my weight in front of the entire office, and for another thing I wanted to smash her patronising face in! But my mother didn’t raise me to be rude (heh heh) so I quietly pointed out that I’m patently not ‘absolutely fine’ and that I’m simply getting to grips with my weight before it starts to cause health problems.

Then I picked up some paperwork to indicate that the subject was closed and that she should just shut the hell up.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about your health or anything like that," she said, appealing to the rest of the team to back her up. "You’re not fat, you’re just cuddly. You should learn to be happy with yourself as you are instead of trying to force yourself to be something that you’re not. And men love curvy women...”

This time I counted to fifty, and when I figured I had myself sufficiently under control that I could walk past her desk on my way to the door without bashing her upside the head with the office hole punch, I took my leave. But I was so bloody fuming! I’ve met quite a few of these women in my time, two faced bitches who expect nothing less than bodily perfection for themselves, but assure you that health-threatening imperfection is fine and dandy for you. This particular co-worker is the ring-leader of the ‘slag-off-the-fat-and-feckless’ brigade, and judges everyone by their external appearance. So who the fuck does she think she’s kidding when she says size doesn’t matter?

OK, rant over. Sorry about that, but I just had to cough it up before it choked me.