This might be a companion piece to ‘Cracks’ (8/16) since once again I’m incensed over something someone said.
Every Saturday I go out to lunch.
My self-esteem, that’s whom.
I actually look forward to it all week since I eat like a bear at Yellowstone for the rest of it – berries, apples, celery, nuts and I heard you call me one.
Okay, I felt it then.
I don’t go in jeans either. I put on a nice dress, slip on a pair of pumps before sauntering to a little Italian bistro I like on Third Avenue where they call me Miss, hold out my chair and treat me exactly how I CHOOSE to look which is confident and self-possessed.
Oh, it sounds haughty to you?
Give me a break. When you take the time to look your best it speaks volumes to the world.
What does it say exactly?
I LOVE AND RESPECT MYSELF.
Hello, anyone home? Haven’t those 30 years of therapy done anything?
But Susannah is not here to judge.
So there I was serenely strolling when who sidles alongside me but none other than Mrs. Goldberg. Let me tell you a little bit about her. She’s fat. It’s really all you need to know except that it seems to bother her tremendously that I am not.
For the record, the reason I maintain my weight is not because God likes me better, it’s because at my worst (and best) moment I’m running laps. I only have 2 meals a day and dessert is not a drug but an occasional treat. Did I mention I do 50 push-ups a day? I don’t care if I’m crying and heart broken, I’m still on the floor pumping away on behalf of my arms but let’s get back to CHUBBY, MEAN Mrs. Goldberg.
She has never worked a day in her life. Milton, her husband, who hasn’t been home since 1973 he works so much, has given her everything but a waistline. Not that he hasn’t tried mind you. There have been countless trips to ‘Canyon Ranch’ where for the whopping price of say, 5 grand a day, his MEATY little Missus has been pummeled, massaged and more or less starved for a month at a time. How do I know this?
Everybody knows. She’s the town crier of spas. but enough with the back story.
“Susannah (at least she gets my name right) look at you, how cute you are.”
I LOATHE BEING CALLED CUTE. As Susan Sarandon said in ‘Bull Durham,’ “pigs are cute,” and believe me, I am anything but. I can handle the occasional ‘you’ve grown handsome’ before being compared to a barn yard animal, but I’m digressing again.
“Looks like you’ve saved up to buy yourself a little outfit. Tell me what you do again, you’re a nanny? No, no that’s not right, you wait tables somewhere. Is it in Queens?”
You have no idea the self-restraint I have since she knows perfectly well I’m a model. I’ll admit a vintage one but one just the same and because of this, I’d like to take those swollen ankles of hers and shove them into hotdog buns. However, I’m not my snappy mother’s daughter for nothing. There are more subtle ways to get even.
“So Mrs. Goldberg, looks to me like you’ve lost a little weight. I can tell by looking at your neck. You know, if you want, I’d be happy to show you an exercise for that.”
I loved watching the color drain from her presumptuous face. I knew she couldn’t wait to make a bee-line to a mirror to see what I was talking about.
“You know dear, the next time I’m giving things away, I’m going to think of you.”
“Isn’t that nice. I’ll be more than happy to help you Mrs. Goldberg. You know I have a neighbor, she’s not quite as heavy as you, but with a good tailor I think she’d love your giveaways. Make sure to let me know. Will you excuse me, I’m late for lunch.”
Hey, she started it.
Self-esteem is a heavenly thing and you can’t let anybody try to steal it from you. There’s nothing wrong throwing an elbow once in a while. It lets a Mrs. Goldberg know you may be skinny but you’re no push-over. And besides, it’s not my fault she can’t miss a meal.
When I finally sat down to that plate of linguine I waited all week, for I knew it was well deserved, and after I washed it down with a nice glass of Chianti followed by an impressive dish of Tiramisu you know what?
I was still thin and ever so happy.
Here’s looking at you Mrs. Goldberg, all 300 pounds of you.
I’m not mean.
Alright I’m mean, but only when provoked.