I am a woman, so let me just say right now that I am aware of how much I compare my physical appearance to that of others. This is what we do. It is the seed that roots into our brains and makes us size each other up. For example, when I first met my best friend in college, my first thought was, “She’s prettier than I am. She’s probably stuck up. Ergo, hate her.”
If that sounds harsh, well, at least I know we all do this. Months after this best friend and I had gotten to know each other and were getting along swimmingly, another mutual friend admitted to having the exact same thought at the exact same moment that I was having it. This is hard wired into our DNA, people.
Same goes for people who are not in my social circle. I buy most of my groceries at Wal-Mart currently, because a) no farmers’ markets are currently open in the Midwest, b) it’s cheap and we’re forced to be thrifty, c) it’s literally a block from our home, and d) it gives me a bit of an ego boost to go there. Admit it. You know when you go to the WM, you silently judge people for what they’re carting around. And for what they are wearing. And for the length of the stringy mullet peaking out the back of their American flag baseball cap. Come on, there’s a reason for the existence of People of Wal-Mart.
So there I was, last Saturday. The Hubs and Little Dude and I were making a left hand turn from the produce section into the frozen food aisle. Not for the ice cream; I was trying to get at my ubiquitous Boca burgers. If you must know, I like sandwiches. No, I love sandwiches. But, deli meat every day for lunch makes me irritable. I do love the salty goodness, and I did eat a lot of it whilst preggo, against the advice of my doctor and God and the internet. But good luck getting me to eat anything non-processed while carrying Little Dude in my guts. Not my finest dining repertoire. Anyway, we were suddenly at the back of a traffic jam because there were not one but two people on those scooter-cart things, put-put-putting along, and making everyone wait for them to make the turn from the opposite direction.
Mind you, I’m not holding a grudge against the disabled. These people were not disabled. They did not look like they even needed scooter-carts. I say this only because there are so many people, it seems, who choose these carts these days, and are otherwise capable of walking. Who, in fact, would probably benefit more if they walked behind an actual grocery cart instead of scooting around. Not all of these people can have severe diabetes. Not all of them have an illness or injury or were born with a disability that requires the use of the scooters. I will likely get slammed for this, but there it is. I just don’t buy it. These people in particular, were, sadly, extremely obese.
My first thought, as always, was, “well, at least I’m not that fat.” Go ahead and write me hate mail, judge me, condemn me. But it’s the truth. And you all think the same thing. I shuffled along zombie-like behind the scooter people, waiting to get to my Bocas and getting annoyed, and wishing that Jillian Michaels were there at that moment to yell at a few people to get up and get moving. Just then, an elderly man, who looked like he’d just walked out of the Crankshaft comic, saw the look of impatience on my face. He walked by me and muttered, “If they weren’t so fat they wouldn’t need those damn things.”
I was gobsmacked. Speechless. Bewildered. Dumbfounded and flummoxed. Even after I realized he was just saying out loud what we were all thinking, I was utterly agog and aghast. I wanted to judge him, but I didn’t. He looked to be about the age of someone who served in Korea, and far be it from me to pass judgment on a serviceman. I usually give people of that age a pass.
I waited until we got to the next aisle over, and I whispered to Hubs what I’d just heard. I had to say it to somebody. Two aisle further, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted from the pasta section. Hubs asked me, “Did that make you forget your whole grocery list?” Yes, it did.
I wonder what kind of a world we are living in that I am more taken aback by someone speaking their mind, however rudely, than I am by seeing so many people eating themselves into an early grave. I don’t mean to be smug or judgmental due to the fact I’m actually doing something about my weight. I feel for those people. I really do. As much as I compare myself and thank God I’m not that bad off, I realize I could just as easily end up like that if I’m not careful.
Woof! End of sermon! Here goes the yucky parts:
Worst day: Friday, April 22
Breakfast: one serving oatmeal, half serving maple syrup, 1/4 cup applesauce, half serving rice milk, half serving Cadbury mini creme eggs.
Lunch: Two eggs, one serving whole wheat deli flat sandwich bread, one Boca chicken patty.
Dinner: One sausage calzone from B. Antonio’s, cannoli for dessert. YES. I ATE A FREAKIN’ CANNOLI. No, I’m not the jerky little son of Cake Boss, why do you ask?
Best Day: Tuesday, April 26
Breakfast: One serving oatmeal, one serving rice milk, half serving Cadbury mini creme eggs.
Lunch: Boca sandwich.
Snack: One banana, two rice cakes, one serving peanut butter. I like pb & bananas ALMOST as much as I like pb & chocolate. No, I’m not Elvis, but I think we have a cosmic connection when it comes to food addictions.
Dinner: Mixed green salad with carrots, one T olive oil, 1/4 c. walnuts, one serving artichoke hearts, one serving light string cheese.
Snack: One mini bag of kettle corn flavored popcorn — which I just found out is not the 100- calorie kind. The Hubs bought the super buttery kind, and it’s 200 calories. But I don’t care. There is one bag left and I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.
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