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Fat
is Contagious PAGE
THREE: The Caribbean lady reached over and put a hand on my arm. "Don't you listen to her," she said in a hush. "She's just jealous. She wants to be young and pretty, like you." I knew my new friend was right. I wouldn't have traded bodies with that unhappy little troll for any amount of money -- and I wanted so badly to tell her so. I was growing weary of taking yet-another-hit for the fat team in noble silence. I was tired of letting people skate by saying whatever they felt like about my private body any time, anywhere, in front of anyone -- all the while, grinding my teeth on overrated grace and eternal forgiveness, replaying in my mind the old Mommyism that I shouldn't lower myself to her level by being just as nasty. My ire was way up, and for good reason. I wanted to say something acidly clever, just plain mean. No, I'm not Mother-frickin'-Theresa, and here's what I was thinking: I wanted to tell her she looked like a rat -- a sickly, underfed rat crudely ejected from an overcrowded consumption asylum; a 19th-century trash picker just turned out of the workhouse. I wanted to rub it in her face that I was robust and pink and lusty, that I was luscious and plump and smooth as a peach, that I looked like a biblical cherub in the nude, and that she only wished she did. I wanted to tell her she was the last person who ought to comment on the state of a person's health based on their appearance. I wanted to thrust a chubby finger in her face and force her to listen about fat Jeanette DePatie, marathoner, aerobics instructor, and producer of the fitness video The Fat Chick Works Out. Would Ms. Hostility be able to keep up with Jeanette DePatie's video? I wished Ms. Hostility could meet obese Kevin Brown who placed 76th out of 173 competitors at the Ironman Triathlon. How well would Ms. Hostility compete beside Kevin Brown? What would she so authoritatively say about the health of Ms. DePatie or Mr. Brown if she saw one of them sitting on the bus? Ms. Hostility certainly wasn't the first person in history to suggest that fat people should lose weight for their health. Every physician I've ever seen and an uncle with only the best intentions believed the same, and told me so. But why should a complete stranger on a bus be so deeply concerned about my health? It's as hackneyed an excuse as they come. I decided against engaging Ms. Hostility in a debate. Part of me would've relished a cross-examination of her motives, but I was too tired to excavate, too weary to peel away the health argument and find out what bitter, ignorant, heartbreaking belief really lay beneath. I took the high road, but only by exhausted default. The rotund sisters unleashed some verbal digs on my behalf. "You're right, she is jealous," they piped up. "Just look at her nasty, bony ass." With easy confidence, I assured them, "What she says can't hurt me." "You're beautiful, and they're beautiful," the black woman said, gesturing to me and the sisters. "I'm not very skinny myself, but I'm beautiful too." We all nodded at one another and smiled. "You look stunning. Tall, healthy." I told the kind woman. "We've all got good, sturdy genes. And there's nothing wrong with that." A growing crowd at the front of the bus forced Ms. Hostility back our way again. She hovered directly above me and glared, stubbornly avoiding the empty seat at my side. I decided to resume what I'd been doing when I was so unpleasantly interrupted the first time. I pulled Fat is Contagious out of my bag and with intentional drama, I widened my eyes mockingly and raised the book slowly, spookily in front of my face, floating it over my nose and mouth. Ms. Hostility and my allies all noticed this quiet, curious performance and leaned forward to read the book title. Suddenly, laughter and applause broke out from all sides. The quarrelsome Ms. Hostility made a sour face, turned on her heel, and spurned us for the remainder of the ride. Ms. Hostility and I got off the bus at Union Square. We started moving in the same direction at the same time. Even with a bulky, heavy shoulder bag to bear, I passed her, walking at my usual clip -- a pace that tends to be frustratingly fast for most of my friends, fat and thin alike. I wasn't trying to outrun her. I didn't have to. Perhaps her delicate, bird-like physique couldn't support such a vigorous stride. I went about my business, breathing deeply the air of an unusually perfect day, my legs long, sturdy and sure, my head held high. I looked over my shoulder only once to see if I'd been followed, and I saw Ms. Hostility shuffling towards the doors of Barnes & Noble. Perhaps she was looking to read a copy of Fat is Contagious. For her health.
Buy your own copy of Fat is Contagious!
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All
right then. If the idea behind this woman's confrontation was that
all fat people are hurting themselves with their poor habits, and
further, that society should step up and stop this mass self-destruction
by any means necessary (including malice masquerading as
tough love), then why aren't more combatant, public transportation-loving
women hovering over slender people on the bus and berating them
for the cigarettes in their shirt pockets, the martinis on their
breath, or the excessive stress lingering on their furrowed brows?
Why haven't these crusading souls made it their business to fight
self-destructive habits across the board? Why aren't bus riders
asking other bus riders outright if they have regular check-ups
and health screenings, and glaring down their noses at those who
answer in the negative? After all, it's about helping people recognize
what's best for their health -- right?
