The F-Word

Fluffy, voluptuous, big-boned, husky (Dear Jesus, please don’t let anyone see my mom holding up jeans to my waist in the husky section.  Love, Sammy). 

We’ve all got our little bag of excuses filled with make-us-feel-better words sitting somewhere within relatively easy reach at all times.  For some of us, that bag is tucked neatly away next to those several pairs of 32” inseam jeans that we haven’t been able to get past our knees for the past two years because it’s only a matter of time until we’ll be able to fit into them again and jeans are expensive and who knows how long this recession will last and it’s always good to be prepared (I wouldn’t know anything about that).  For others, that bag is covered in the stench of mothballs in the nether regions of your closet where those old college mini dresses went to die but you couldn’t possibly get rid of them because of all of the memories attached of being thin, carefree, and drunk and passed out at that frat house. 

Regardless of where we keep that little bag of excuses, all of those words that we’ve told ourselves over the years mean the same thing. 

Fat.

It’s just a word, but it’s a word that many of us have given far too much power over the years.  Like the words smart, pretty, or a-hole, we too often allow single words to become all-encompassing to explain who we or those around us are.  Don’t fear the fat, because let’s face it – the more we sweep anything under the rug by ignoring it, the easier it is for that to become a bigger problem until it’s such a terrible problem that we begin to ask ourselves, “What’s the use?” and give up. 

To be successful in battle, we must admit that the enemy exists.

Fat.  It’s the enemy, and we’re all ready for battle.

Say it with me – “F you, Fat!”