Fat Shaming, Part Two!

How fucking sad is it that this has a Part Two?

Just to recap, in case there are any new readers, Hi, I'm Roz, and I have a bit of extra girth. Quite a bit of extra girth. Yes, kids, I'm a fatty. And I'm so very cool with it. I do not feel limited in my activities or my movements, just in what clothes I can wear. I do not have weight-related health problems. I have a tremendous sex life. And I'm cute as Hell.

Yet, I frequently deal with stupid people and their fat-shaming. As you all may know from previous entries, I am required to suggestive sell junk food as a part of my job. I frequently get in response to this "Oh, no I'm watching my weight" or "That's really bad for you," while the customer glares at me. Really? Then I'll pretend I don't see your cart full of beer, cigarettes, and all of that cat food made by that company that refuses to do quality inspections and is well known for poisoning animals yet somehow damn near has a monopoly on pet food, oh, wait, it's because of assholes like you who think my weight (my choice) is a problem but don't care enough about the living creatures you're responsible for to make sure you're not poisoning them (not their choice). Yeah, how's that for a rant?!

The story that I meant to tell, however, is one that some of you may have heard already.

I was recently at the store where I work, and happened be showing somebody an old photo. A coworker, who we'll call Gita, walked by and saw this old photo of me from high school, posing with my sister. Now, in high school, I was a size six (still had some awesome hips, though). My non-American readers, this is what is frequently presented as the ideal size for a woman. Not the practical, most common, or realistic size. That's a twelve, which is really only 3 sizes larger (8, 10, 12). American sizes are stupid. I look at photos of me in high school and I think I looked kind of gross. You could see my individual ribs. I don't mean you could see my ribcage when I was topless. I mean, wearing a low cut shirt, you could count my ribs from my clavicle down. My bra size was 34B. I found an old bra the other day and laughed for about twenty minutes. Today, I don't look like a walking skeleton. I'm not going to share my dress size, but my bra size is 40DDD. So, notable difference. Gita looks at this photo of my sister and me, and asks "Is that you?" "Yep, about ten years ago." I'm not at all exaggerating about this. Her exact words were "What happened? That much of a difference in just ten years?!" and shook her head.

Why in the Hell would anybody think that okay to say to me? Why would anybody think that's okay to say to anybody?!

So, I bitched on Facebook about this, without mentioning Gita's name, just saying "a co-worker." I work two jobs, so I figured nobody would really be completely sure of who I meant. The next day, my workmate, let's call him Shawn, greeted me with, "So, I came into work today, and I saw Gita. And I asked her 'What happened to your face?' She got confused and went to look in the mirror, then I just smashed her face into the mirror. And I said 'What happened to your face? That much of a difference in just ten seconds?!' " Obviously, this didn't actually happen, but damn, did I get a laugh out of it. The kicker is, folks, that Gita's pretty chunky herself (I still think she's very pretty though).

Fat shaming: It gets dumber every day.