So, okay. Here's a newsflash: I'm fat.
I've lost like ninety pounds. I can walk for miles and miles and miles and I usually say "no" to delicious cake, even when I don't want to.
I'm still fat.
My husband doesn't care. He thinks I'm the hottest thing on two legs (bless him). My kids don't care. They think I'm an awesome mom and hilarious and even though they don't say it, or even realize it probably, I'm pretty sure they are thankful that they don't have a mom who is really psycho about food. I really don't care if they have a cookie after they eat their broccoli. Cookies are delicious. My dog doesn't care. She loves me no matter what I do, even after I scold her for having such smelly farts.
I care, some. I'm never going to be a Supermodel or anything, but I would like to just be around for a good, long while. I really like my husband, children, and dog and it is my desire to be in their lives for as long as possible. That has nothing to do with the size of my jeans.
I do wish the size of my jeans were a little smaller though. So I walk.
There are four or five walking paths within a couple of miles from my house. I usually pick one at random and I picked, for God knows what reason, the "death" path today.
I call it the death path because I feel like death when I'm done. Seriously. There are at least three really large hills. One hill? I would literally sit at the bottom of and cry when I was training for the Avon Walk in 2009. I would sit at the base of a tree and cry and cry and cry because I just did not see how it would be possible for me to get back up it. My car was always JUST over the hill, and I just couldn't possibly see how I could do it. So I would cry and be a big baby and then climb the stupid hill, get in my car, and go home.
There are a couple of houses along the walking trail and today? A man was sitting on one of the benches, close to a house. I guess it's his house.
As I walked by, I smiled at the man and said, "Mornin'!" Cause I'm Southern and we do things like that.
He said nothing, until I was just past him.
Then? He mooed at me.
Now, had he not made bovine noises at me, I would not even note this...but this guy? Was quite large. He literally took up the whole bench he was sitting on.
And he mooed.
I kept walking.
Because, really. I am quite well aware of the fact that this guy could never, ever get a woman as intelligent, kind and witty as I am. I am further aware that he probably feels really bad about himself, which is why he has to make fun of me. Either that or he's completely delusional about what he actually looks like...sort of like when Homer Simpson wears the "No Fat Chicks" shirt.
Either way. He's pretty flipping sad.
So I kept walking.
I didn't cry when I got back around to the base of that big hill. I powered right up and I was gasping for breath (literally) when I came upon that same man. Still sitting on the same bench, alone.
To his credit, he apparently likes to mix things up. This time as I went just past him, he made an oinking noise, like a pig.
And being the good Girl Scout that I've been since the early 80's? Well, I couldn't let that pass. I whirled around and walked right over to him.
"Are you okay?" I asked, sweet as pie.
"Are you okay? You just made a terrible noise and I was concerned for your breathing. Should I call someone for you? Do you have a doctor?"
He stared at me and I could tell he was trying to decide if I was a) a huge bitch or b) genuinely concerned.
I smiled again. I do that.
"I'm okay," he muttered.
"Good!" I said. "I thought you were having a heart attack. Maybe you should join me on the trail soon. Walking is really good for you."
And with my biggest, brightest, sweetest smile I left him sitting there.
In the rain.
It felt really good.