The Fatslayer Chronicles

I walked into my office after a meeting this morning and interrupted my team discussing how much I weigh. Sheesh, that was embarrassing.

I’ve realised over the years that skinny people normally hugely underestimate what they think fat people weigh. Possibly it’s inconceivable to them that a 5’1” woman could still weigh 177lbs after 40 weeks of dieting. The consensus seemed to be that I’m now somewhere around the 150lbs mark.

I wish.

Not many people know how much I weigh. In fact, let’s be honest here. Apart from you, gentle readers, only I and K know the dreaded number. And I’d like to keep it that way.

When people ask me how much I’ve lost, it makes me squirm. I’m an accountant, and work with numerically-minded people. If I tell them I’ve lost 54lbs and that I’ve still got a long way to go, they can do the math and realise that I must have been 80+ pounds overweight to start with.

I don’t want them to speculate that way about me!

I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but it does. Being that much overweight seems shameful, somehow.

But it’s not as if obesity is a hidden problem.  It’s hardly like intravenous drug use, when I could wear long sleeves to hide my veins, or alcoholism when I could drink vodka and eat vast quantities of breath mints.

Obesity is in your face. An obvious ‘problem’. So speculation and gossip amongst one’s acquaintances is probably inevitable. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it!

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On the subject of embarrassing gossip, last night was the company’s Christmas party at one of the local hotels, and today the post-mortem was in full swing.

I missed most of the action because I only popped in on my way home from work and stayed long enough to buy my team a round of drinks and make a gracious exit. In my defence I didn’t manage to get away from the office until 8pm, and I was absolutely knackered and longing for my sofa. Besides, I HATE office parties!

By the time I showed up one guy (from payroll) was so trolleyed that he was groping his colleague’s breasts, under the thunderous gaze of her husband who was sitting three feet away from them. Honest to God, he was manhandling her nipples as if he was trying to tune in a particularly static-y radio station, and she gave the appearence of loving every second of it.

Call me prudish, but I found it a cringe-inducing spectacle.

While the jungle drums were still in full unabated swing this morning I went to a meeting in the boardroom, where the walls are notoriously paper thin. Though it was a heated meeting, we could still hear every word being discussed in the corridor outside.

It was impossible not to eavesdrop.

People were gossiping shamelessly about the groping incident, which apparently went from bad to worse as the evening progressed. Eventually the husband had stormed off, and the happy couple had allegedly got a room together in the hotel at the end of the evening.

In an echo of the ‘fat girls swallow’ comment I talked about here, speculation was rife that the reason why this (married) woman was such a willing participant was because she was a big(gish) girl, and that therefore she was grateful for any kind of male attention, no matter how inappropriate or degrading.

“He tried it on with the babes in the bar first,” I overheard one man say, “but they just gave him the brush off so he picked on a fat chick ‘cos he knew he’d have better luck. They’re less fussy and better in bed because they make more of an effort…”

Inside the boardroom we were all very professional, pretending we couldn’t hear what was being said outside, but I could feel my face flaming. I was mortified, and it didn’t help that I was the only woman at the meeting, and the only person with a weight problem.

Is that really what people say and think about fat women, when they don’t think they’re being overheard? Are we really seen as desperate, low-standard nymphomaniacs who bang like a barn door in a gale?

If so (with the possible exception of the shit-hot-in-bed part) that’s really bloody depressing!