Posts Tagged ‘fat humor’

Being fat doesn’t just mean having a big gut or thunder thighs; when you’re fat, you’re whole body is fat.  In my case, my face, my hands, and even my feet are fat.  I swear if it were possible even my hair is fat.  I no longer just have big boobs, I have a spare-tire kind of fat boob that wraps all the way around my fat body and produces “back cleavage”  (P.S. They don’t make a bra for that).  I wake up each day and  put on my “fat clothes”;  Walmart specials that I wear so often they are now stained or worn out to the point that it’s time to go buy more “fat clothes”.  Who can blame them, they are so sick and tired of being stretched over my fat that they are finally caving under the fat pressure.  My entire fat wardrobe can be washed in one fat wash load. 

I’m not really a Walmart clothing kind of gal.  I’ve always been proud of my taste in clothes — cashmere, silk, Victorias Secret — but these days I don’t feel good about how I look, so I wouldn’t want to defile a nice garment by stretching it over my fat ass and making it suffer.  It’s like putting expensive chrome wheels on a rusted out Pinto — seriously, why bother?  You’re not doing the wheels any justice and the Pinto is probably just going to explode one day anyway.  Nice things are meant to be displayed on nice things, not to be used to try to distract the eye from seeing what’s really there.  

To sum it all up, I’m sick and tired of being fat.  My days are spent constantly thinking about how fat I am and how miserable it makes me.  The thin girl inside me really wants to shed the fat suit and be herself again.  I want to wear a normal bra, not a sports bra because it’s the only thing that will hold up my spare-tire boob.  I want to wear sexy panties, not fat-girl hold-you-in type panties.  I want to look in the mirror and not be able to count how many chins I have — there should only be one and FYI it’s apparently comprised of bone, not fat.


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