Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

In terms of public humiliation, there are a few things that dangle out there like a pair of bad earrings that you always hear of happening to someone, but it never actually happens to you or anyone you know. Gah, it always feels like I am that someone.

Yesterday, in a fit of desperation borne out of sweltering heat and terminal laziness, I whipped out a supercheap empire-waist tank top procured from Old Navy a few months ago. After I tried it on at home, I promptly stuffed into the back of the closet after Adam and I collectively deemed it unflattering. But, it was hot, the top was black and I figured if I stuck it over a fluid black jersey skirt, it would be borderline acceptable. Black on black! Slimming! Loose! Comfortable!

Or not. While I was out walking Sunny yesterday, I ran into our neighbor as she walked her puffy little cockermaltidoodlepoo. I stopped to chat, as we always do and midway through the conversation, I noticed her hungrily eyeing my midsection. I ignored her and assumed I’d spilled some kind of latte or ketchup somewhere, per usual, until she said: “Oh honey…I hope you don’t find this too forward, but you and Adam are expecting, right?”

Dude, how many times have you heard this story? It’s practically an urban legend, for chrissake! I would love nothing more than to tell you that either a) I am pregnant (ummm, no) or b) that I promptly told her how rude she was, and/or punched her in the face or even started crying to let her know how crappy it felt to be accused of having a pregnant belly after gaining a couple of pounds. Instead, as to be expected, I did everything I could to make her feel comfortable and practically apologized for my weight gain that was disguising as a pregnancy. “I know, it’s this awful shirt and I’ve gained weight! HAHAHAHA! It’s confusing!” I actually said “confusing” like I was deliberately wearing some sort of prosthetic belly designed to lure strangers into giving up their seats on the subway.

After that outburst, all I wanted to do was sit in our bedroom and listen to Sunny snore while downing glass after glass of wine with a cheddar cheese-block chaser. But hi ho to the gym I went! Two days in a row! I mean, how can you not after something like that, no matter how well-adjusted you are?

But lo, the momentum was lost today, and tonight’s trip required some heavy coaxing. So, um, so I actually whipped out the heavy artillery: a TiVo’d copy of Elektra that I’d saved just for this purpose. Am I the only one who is completely motivated by workout scenes in movies and/or athletic lead characters? I know I know I know, it’s abysmal and Jennifer Garner is simpering at best, but nothing says “Get thee to a gym!” louder than JG’s drum-tight ass in a gratuitously skintight red outfit as she battles the forces of evil. I have the same reaction to The Karate Kid and the Rocky series: suddenly I have this burning desire to hit the gym or, I don’t know, the wilds of Russia and train – TRAIN! I will beat Drago! Take that, Bridgette Nielsen! Pain does not exist in this dojo!

I guess what I’m trying to say is, if I can change, and you can change, then EVERYBODY CAN CHANGE!

God, this whole thing just gets more embarrassing doesn’t it? The hole just gets deeper and deeper, and yet: I continue to dig.

So, I went to the gym tonight and found myself alone – ALONE – with my other neighbor, M., who just a few weeks ago, wrapped up a two-month prison stint for beating the ever-loving shit out of her longtime partner, B., breaking both of her arms in a fit of rage and putting her in the hospital for more than three weeks.

I’d met her before, as I was friendly with her girlfriend, B. (our dogs were buds), but until that incident, had assumed her coldness was a sign of being shy and socially awkward, and not a symptom of being a complete and utter homicidal lunatic. Later, I would wonder if she was oddly jealous or concerned that B. and I were, I don’t know, more than friends? I DO NOT KNOW. All I knew was that she would hover around us like a dragonfly every time we got into a conversation. I now know of course that she is some sort of freakish controlling domestic abuser. I love it here.

The most awful, terrible part of the whole thing, besides being overweight, being told I was pregnant and making really awful Rocky references? M. has a kickass body and HOLY SHIT, the girl can lift weights, and for most of the workout, I was terrified of making a noise, lest she get angry and beat me to a bloody pulp, too (she did yell at me once for closing the blinds (!!) ). Because dude, she could totally kick my ass, and what’s worse is that B. had a killer body, too and I’m shocked – SHOCKED! – that she didn’t just defend herself and crush M. like a fly, which means that M. has hidden depths. Or maybe she’s a ninja secretly working with The Hand that fights Elektra.

Either way, and in all seriousness, how horrible is that whole situation? I feel ill every time I think about it. Poor B. I hope she moved out for good.

And so, M. was added to the arsenal of motivation: Rocky, Elektra, and protecting myself from domestic-abusing lesbians who lurk at the gym and/or kicking their ass in divine retaliation. Along with a false pregnancy of course.

28 comments August 7th, 2006