I’m calling this one more myth and want to meet the idiot who started it.
There was an office below where I once lived who had a very heavy male employee, and if he were coming down the stairs while you were going up, he’d stop because two of us couldn’t fit on the stairwell. He also smelled of BO and garlic. Think pizza after a spin class.
This brings up something I read in the paper about an obese kid living above a beauty parlor in Chinatown having a fatal heart attack whose eventual scent makes
this known to his neighbors downstairs. Let’s say that made BO and garlic smell like a new men’s cologne. But back to office man.
My heart always went out to him because he was friendly more than jolly. Yes, there’s a difference. Managing a hello, how are you, doesn’t require teeth.
Once I insisted he borrow an umbrella because of a sudden storm and then said…keep it, so you have one. Did I have an instant fan. For the next week, whenever he saw me he’d smile, his eyes twinkling like we had secret plans. Uh-Oh…I was worried next he’d be serenading me below my window with a mandolin.
But that’s not what this is about.
It’s about the obese expected to act jolly.
If my feet swell I cry, let alone carting around two bodies in one. My pal Camille, if she’s a pound overweight, rewrites her will. Jolly, that Webster says means, happy and cheerful, perky and fun-loving, is the last thing you feel. One has to assume Mr. Webster was slim and didn’t have a weight problem.
This piece was actually inspired by a very large woman who recently did my hair which means, she stuck her sweaty hands through it like a spaghetti strainer, to give it more body, she said. Well, if anyone knew about extra body she did, in tights no less.
She got angry because she said something I misheard as wig…”I’d prefer not wearing a wig in this heat,” said I.
“Who said wig!!! I said, big…as in more body on the top.”
You would have thought I ate her cat she got so mad. I told her, I was sorry, but have hearing loss and sometimes don’t hear everything correctly.
“I’ve worked with you before so I already know that,” she snapped.
“Well if you already know that, why are you so angry at me then?”
“WHO’S ANGRY??? DO I SEEM ANGRY???”
Before I could snap, a little guy with a tray of chicken quesadillas passes by getting her immediate attention, but even a stuffed sandwich didn’t make her more jolly.
As for me, I was two inches taller when she gets done with my hair looking an awful lot like Marge Simpson, and am anything but jolly.
Myths… There should be a law.
SB
I know jolly fat people. I also know miserable, hatchet-faced, avaricious bitches, with arses like hippos. I think it’s what we statisticians like to call “no correlation”.
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Now there’s a word. The thought of a hippo’s just gave me a chill, just so you know.
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Susannah, ten of Pookies brothers, sisters, nieces, aunts, cousins; and three in-law relatives have all had stomach surgery to lose weight. A couple were jolly before hand, and are a lot more jolly now. The others seem happier overall, but a few are as ornery as before. How’s that for a scientific sampling?
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See Skinny, it’s all just a myth.
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I agree with everyone. No correlation at all. I’m just surprised she finished you with chicken passing by.
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Me too. How could I possibly compete with a wing or a thigh.
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There is a law, in fact, two: 1) The law of practicality – most myths are highly impractical. and
2) The law of reality – I hope that one doesn’t even need explaining.
That’s my two cents worth. You know, someone said that “it’s put in your two cents” and “a penny for your thoughts” “Someone is making a penny!” Well, I always found that funny.
Scott
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A myth is chronicled as a fallacy, false notion or an old wive’s tale. Your two cents is registered in the halls of two cents. 🙂
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We just had a patient come in who was standing in the waiting room. I went out to inquire why she wasn’t sitting. It was because her ass could not fit in the chairs. She was over-the-top kind, but I think it was just to mask the elephant in the room. “If I’m overly nice no one will notice my ass doesn’t fit it the chair.”
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OMG!!! Could you imagine having that issue? I see it on the subway how certain women can’t sit down unless there are two seats side by side. I feel sad for any elephant in the room.
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Seriously! Me too…yikes. I was also glad the 8 year-old version of my son was not there to inform her about her ass size. No elephants in the room when my kid was present…the grays I have from him.
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Like Dennis the Menace.
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His mouth was and at times still is, a time bomb.
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A bomb, at times, can be quite an asset. 🙂
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