The Bookstore

I went to the book store today. I'm not really sure why, but I felt the need. I am a great lover/hoarder of books of all shapes and sizes. When I reach a point in my life where my stack of books yet to be read is high enough that if it were to fall, would crush one of my beloved cats, I decide to cut me off any new purchases. I knew going in today that I would not purchase anything. If for no other reason than to protect Jet Black The Maniac. Where he goes, chaos follows. Jet will fling himself up on to the bathroom sink, slam in to my book, and springboard my glasses in to the toilet. I have to stand back and just absorb the moment.....the stark realization that this could only happen to me. If any one of my disturbed pets would upturn my stack....it would be The Maniac.

So I'm wandering the book store, resisting the urge to purchase and happen upon the diet and fitness section. The woman standing next to me also perusing the diet books, was wearing tight black leggings, an over sized T-shirt tied around her waist, bright red pumps, and large clangy gold jewelry. Her hair was died chestnut brown and, now I'm giving my best estimate here, had to be at least 187 years old. She was so painfully thin that one of my dog's inadvertent farts could have knocked her over. Jet Black The Maniac could have just as easily spring boarded her in to the toilet.

I have to ask myself at this moment. "What am I supposed to learn here?" Let me just clue you normal girls in to the "what am I supposed to learn here" moment. This is a tool that us fat girls use to come to grips with our waaaaay too numerous disappointments in life. Like when you're standing in line at the grocery store with funyuns and coffee ice cream after you've just run the dogs in the rain and run in to a high school classmate who still fucking looks the same and you suddenly realize while you're looking down in an effort to hide the wreck that is your face, that your socks are two different colors. "What am I supposed to learn here??"

We are a study in opposites. Me, chubby and plain in my jeans purchased at Wal-Mart. Her, the result of self help gone nuclear. Me, struggling for answers in a world that fails to understand me, and her, struggling to lift the "1001 uses for arugula" book that outweighs her by half. None of these books are for me. None of these lean, glowing, tan cover models can really help me get abs like theirs. It's all a repetitive regurge of shit that hasn't worked for fat girls since the dawn of time.

I leave the bookstore more aware than ever, that I will have to find my own way. That even though your metabolism runs like a Ferrari and mine runs on your basic matchbook and rubber band mechanism, I will fucking find a way to be comfortable and healthy in my own skin! and all of you people, fat and lean, tall and small, who were also dropped on this planet by the pod people are welcome to join me!........anybody?.........helloooooo........anybody?