For fat people, the whole world is nothing like an oyster. It's more like a banquet hall filled with people who offer unwanted, patronizing advise.
If I had a nickel for every time someone has counseled me or advised me or given me tips on how to lose weight or warned me that I'm dying, I'd have enough money to have my own 21 storey library.
We all know that most people have this dellusional, self-fufilling prophecy that they know how this world works and that they need to impart this knowledge to other, lesser intelligent life forms. So that fact that I need to lose weight has been pointed out to me by a thousand candidates applying for the post of Field Marshal Obvious. In return, I give them a gift of information. I let them know that they are ugly or that their daughter's a whore or that their fifteen year old son just stole my Dad's favorite Ming vase to finance his cocaine addiction.
Of course, my Dad does not have a favorite ming vase, I never consider anyone a whore and I'll probably have a cocaine addiction when I'm forty because that's considered like dying in gay years. But it's fun to watch people drop their jaw and have a nice, warm, hazelnut flavored cup of shut the fuck up.
The advise to lose weight is often accompanied by a collorary which states that unless I lose weight I would never be able to find a thin life partner (which in 15 Indian languages means a subservient Indian housewife). Yes, because that's what the world revolves around. Thin, "fair" husband worshiping, pseudo-slave wives whose primary destiny of existence is to keep having daughters until she manages to produce a male child.
The mere thought makes me lose my lunch. Or the very least my after lunch super meal.
This remindes me of an incident. A few weeks ago, one of our family friends was visiting our house with a so called "holy" guru. Now, my family has a lot of family friends and they keep visiting. I tried to educate them about being mean and petty but they don't care about values which are important to me. Then they accuse me of not trying to bond. The nerve.
So I usually don't go to meet these family "friends" unless food items from my favorite bakery are involved. So, unfortunately for everybody except me, on that particular day, my sixth sense told me that there was choclate truffle being served and I happen to enter the room where everyone was sitting.
So this schizophrenic (not actually diagnosed, but that's what I call people who claim to speak with God. Or claim to have met Clint Eastwood.) woman serves me the usual you-must-lose-weight meal along with a side order of thin-girl-logic. So as she broke the rule of not speaking to me when I am eating, which everyone knows is sacrosanct and must be followed even during earthquakes and hurricanes, I told her to get stuffed. I called her bigoted, short sighted and said that even the statue of the laughing buddha in our drawing room is closer to God than she is.
The woman ended up putting a curse on me. Well, pick a number, medusa.
Another irritating habit that people have is to make really bad fat jokes. The only thing people say about fat people is that they eat too much. All their jokes are based on that. The other day this school acquaintance pinged me on facebook and he cracked the same joke he did on the last day of school when I poured beer on his head. I mean, c'mon chuckles, if you can't make up a good joke then at least google for one. If you want to make fun of someone, at least have the decency to use jokes which are funny. Otherwise you're just a Jay Leno wannabe.
My point is (do I EVER have one? Are you surprised?) is that fat people got the memo on being classified as ugly and not desirable when they started using swimsuit models for adverts for tobacco companies. I believe that if I have to change who I am (a glorified food whore) to get someone to like me, then it's not worth it. At least that's what I read in the best selling book "The Monk who ate his Ferrari" (It's a good read, btw). Sometimes a tiny sliver of insecurity does creep in, but then on those days I simply order a ceaser salad.
I know I do have to lose weight someday because it's not good for one's health. And maybe someday I will. When they find a way to make diet fried chicken which tastes as good as the one made using the Colonel's secret recipe.
Until then, can you please pass the coleslaw?