Dear Fit Girl (a.k.a. every thin, in
shape, smaller lady-person I've ever met),
I've
dreaded this moment for much of my life: where I come head to head with
"the enemy." I believed that I would be here in a balls-out-hair
pulling-winner-takes-all competition to finally prove to you that I was more
than my pounds. I'd be some sort of righteous, confident Adele-esque Super
Hero. Freddie once called me Dynamite with a Laser Beam, and I'd blast
skinny people off their pedestal with my cunning wit and "passion for
equality".
A
deep cringe feels like the most appropriate reaction to that right now.
I
have to come clean. I really fucked this one up.
Somehow
over my years, I lost sight of who or what I was fighting. I've come to see you
as the enemy, or rather, the anti-me. I began to judge you, avoid and worst of
all, sometimes purposefully alienate you.
I've
disliked you simply based on your appearance.
Please.
Let me just sit with that one. Just for a moment.
"Oh,
hey injustice and prejudice I've abhorred and fought against all my life! Fancy
meeting you here, as a part of my own value system!"
Holy.
Fuck. Shit. I am not only a hypocritical nitwit, I've also been a real dick.
To
those I've judged, I'm truly sorry. You deserved better. To those I have yet to
meet, I can't promise we'll be besties. I mean, if you are a serial murderer,
it's probably going to be a check "no" on that note you passed to me.
But I can promise you that I will not discredit, dislike or discard your
potential friendship based on your body.
Unless
it is coming at mine with an ax attached to it. Then, Crazy, it's on.
With Respect,
With Respect,
Fat
Girl
