Skinny Titterers

Some of my closest friends are skinny. My man is athletic, not an ounce of fat (I've learned not to long for love-handles). One of my BFFs is a size zero. It's not about skinny.

It's about skinny fatty haters who snicker and giggle a lot.

For instance... oh, just pulling any name out of the air... Sandra, the assistant to our accountant.

Just to pick any old name, you understand.

Sandra is thin. I wouldn't have taken any particular notice of this except that Sandra mentions thinness, weight, eating, exercise, and watching calories seventy five times a minute in any conversation, regardless of topic. She was born with a curious birth defect: a bottle of flavored spring water growing from the palm of her left hand. I have no idea how she manages.

These facts would certainly not cause me to hate Sandra. What does cause me to hate Sandra is her constant, not-even-remotely-subtle need to imply that I should be unhappy, and that all the problems of the world are caused by excess weight.

I'm not unhappy. I'm actually a very happy person, though I am also sarcastic and can be mean when I deliver the barbs of my wit. I'm not this way because I am unhappy. I'm this way because I've always, at all my varied range of sizes, been this way and like it. Sarcasm and caustic repartee are fun.

Rice cakes and incontinence brought on by diet pills? Um. Not so much.

So Sandra spends her brief moments with me hinting. She giggles and titters a lot. She flirts absolutely shamelessly with Ahmed. He hates Sandra. It's not because he prefers plump women. It's not even because she flirts with a man she knows is taken, right in front of the lady with the pink slip. It's because she is a titterer. Ahmed hates women who giggle, titter, and have falsely high-pitched voices. He calls it "weenie voice." (Meaning wee, small, not pertaining to hot dogs or sausage. They wish.)

Yes, Sandra sighs and finds many reasons to touch my guy's chest (perhaps she is weak from lack of protein?) as she titters and makes oh-so-casual-remarks about weight, health, and similar.

Friday we were both sporting our new Pulmonary Fibrosis support wrist bands. Sandra's reaction was to ask if I would breath better if I "lost a few pounds." Before I could open my mouth (and lemme tell you, BE IMPRESSED BY THAT), Ahmed snapped at Sandra. "PF is not weight related. None of Chrissy's health issues are weight related. She has lost over 150 pounds and is under excellent care."

Um, Sandra? He's a doctor. A really, really good one.

Thing is... I walk a lot. I use oxygen far less than most PF patients. I have already outlived my prognosis and am still considered a "miracle patient" by my treatment team. But Sandra, and many like her, assume that being chubby-- which, incidentally, is a deliberate choice on my part-- is the same as being unhealthy. It's not. We have become a society marinated in fat-hatred.

I wonder, when the morons who like to preach about increasing insurance premiums for fat people, if they think about people like Sandra. She is painfully thin, has an atrocious diet, has constant diarrhea due to the drug she takes to "stay slim and healthy," and is constantly at the doctor's or physical therapists' to treat injuries from hiking, tennis, and overall poor health because of her lifestyle. Should I have to pay extra for her bad decisions? She would like me to pay extra for taking up too much of her world.

I remember, when she first decided to begin taking the drug that causes her to have perpetual poop problems, that she asked Ahmed what he thought. He told her he could not recommend a dangerous drug that requires those who take it to carry a change of undergarments (that's not a joke). "Better that than being overweight," was her reply. She was not an ounce over 110 pounds at the time, and is probably about 100 even now. She's lost muscle in her arms and had problems constantly since.

When I indicated, coldly, that I was "very well taken care of," Sandra tittered and indicated that Ahmed was "a great guy." Yes. He puts up with all of me, excess included. But then, I don't burden the laundry hamper with skid marks.

*titter*