I'm fat. When I say that, people inevitably wave their hand and admonish me.... "don't say that". Why not? I'm about 100 pounds over what's "acceptable" for my height. I have huge bulges in places that cave-people would never have had. My son and hubby can fit in one of my shirts. I mean.... come on, I'm fat. Yes, I'm morbidly obese too, but for the sake of this article, I'll just use the general adjective: fat.
But that's not what I wanted to talk about.
Fat people have secrets. Yes, we talk about feelings and degradation and people making fun of us. What about, um, hygiene?
Let's admit it. We just don't fit on regular toilets very well, and have to keep tightening the seat's screws. We have to use the handicapped stall in public facilities because it's difficult to "clean up" when we have no space to maneuver. And that "clean up" is hard when your arm is only so long and you have lots of fat to reach around. Those of us with "dunlaps" (with big fat bellies that dun-lap over our belts), we have to lift up the fat to properly clean during our showers and again to dry the area. And bathtubs - hey skinny people - ever try to take a bath in a dishpan - and then try standing up afterwards with knees that don't work and the dishpan is slippery from soap.
On the other hand... during sex, our hip-bones don't knock! ;)
Ok... I'm done.
Yet another delay - I honestly started back on my writing, while preparing to get the house ready to sell and monitoring my son's epilepsy ... then it happened. Another lump ...