Leftist commentary from a mouthy bitch
Whenever I talk about being anti-dieting, or about Health At Every Size or about just in general not spending your life punishing yourself for your genetic predisposition to body shape/style/weight… I generally get a flood of comments about how they’re just concerned about health, blah blah blah… but if the back and forth keeps going, invariably this little gem will pop up:
“You can’t help who you’re attracted to.”
Ok, to a point you, you can’t. However, that isn’t at all what we’re talking about. Or at least not what I’m talking about. No one said you had to be attracted to fat people. We said you had to treat us like human beings. And if you only behave well towards people you want to fuck, then shame on you. A lot of shame on you. Because that, my friend, is the mark of the asshole.
When I talk about Body Acceptance, or even, Heaven Forfend, Fat Acceptance, the conversation always comes around to people assuming I want them to find me fuckable.
I don’t CARE if you find me fuckable. I have people who already find me fuckable, and quite a few more of them than I will probably ever get around to actually fucking, thanks. Some of them find me fuckable because I am fat, some of them find me fuckable in spite of my fat, some of them just don’t even care about the fat because they’re more interested in the person inside of it than the wrapping.
Is it flattering when the hot 21 year old clerk at Les Schwab flirts with my fat ass just days shy of my 38th birthday? Hells yes! Do I require it? No. It’s nice, but if I suddenly became sexually invisible to everyone except the Boy tomorrow, I’d deal with it. While I like being thought “hot,” I don’t like it enough to go back to the eager arms of my old beau Eating Disorders.
I do weigh substantially more than I did when Ogre and I were dating. And he’s ok with that because he loves ME. And because now that I’m no longer starving myself and completely batshit insane from malnutrition, I’m a lot easier to live with.*
*There is a direct correlation between the amount I’m not eating that I should, and the number of completely debilitating crying jags I suffer in a given day.