I'm fat.
That's right, I said it. I'm a Fatty McFatFat. I know it, and even though you're probably too polite to agree, you know it too. And you know what? I'm OK with that.
You see, I'm on the Happiness Diet. I eat what I want, and I'm happy. It may not do wonders for my cholesterol, but that's why Lipitor was invented! Viva Lipitor!
There are times, however, just little fleeting, temporary moments when I feel shame. Usually, it's when other people point it out and I'm forced to hang my head like a scolded dog. Then I roll my shame in caramel and powdered sugar and I eat that too.
It might surprise you to learn that I often skip eating lunch. I'd like to tell you it's because I'm just not hungry, but we all know that would never, ever be true. Sometimes it's because I don't want to spend the money, but most of the time it's because I'm simply too lazy to go anywhere. If I vacate my premium, early-morning parking space, some asshole will inevitably take it, which just makes me have to walk my fat ass even farther when I re-enter the building and when I leave at the end of the day. So you see, in a roundabout way, I don't eat because I'm fat and lazy.
One night Deborah and I went to Texas Roadhouse, which was one of her favorite restaurants. I ordered my usual chicken critters, which are really just chicken tenders with a slightly off-putting name that suggests they're some sort of mutant chicken creature. Typically, Texas Roadhouse's entrees are on the hefty side, but this was one of those days where I hadn't eaten lunch and I polished off my plate. Stuffed and satisfied, the waitress returned to our table and offered this observation, "Wow! I've never seen anyone eat the whole plate before!" Which is the same as saying, "Wow, you ate the whole plate, fatass!"
Thanks, waitress! Thanks for your candor! That was awesome the way you took away my dignity like that, ha ha ha... Let's see how much of your tip I take away in return! One dollar, two dollars, three dollars...
Part of my problem is my lack of self-control. And my love of bacon. And cheese. But mostly my lack of self-control. I cannot resist certain things. If there is chocolate involved, chances are 100% I will accept it. You could offer me chocolate covered testicles and I'd be like, "But there is chocolate, right?"
So when a coworker's birthday rolled around, she brought in a cake to share with the office. She went to everyone's desk and asked them if they wanted a piece. She got to my desk and said, "You want a piece of cake, don't you, Matt?" Note the assumption. She saw a fat guy, trying to pretend he wasn't as excited as a kid at Christmas when he spotted cake coming his way, and essentially said, "You want this, don't you, fatty?" Shame. I was shamed. Shamed and offended!
(I took the cake. But I frowned while doing so.*)
(*I did not frown. I was too busy eating cake.)
I used to be skinny. At one time. Many, many moons ago. If you don't believe me, here is proof (blurry proof, but proof nonetheless):
Unfortunately, we had to say goodbye to the old Matt after he was eaten by the new Matt, along with the person whose arm is in the photo.
