I was too fat to date my boyfriend…or anyone really 

I was too fat to date my boyfriend…or anyone really 
2Chinese Laundry

People are used to…

seeing the same mainstream image over and over. Soon, it’s hard to look oneself in the mirror only to realize that they’re not one of them. That’s how little I felt crushing on every white boy in my all white school. I thought I wasn’t good enough and too fat to date, period.

I never liked to reveal my crushes to any of my friends because of the simple fact that they were all thin, tiny pixie chicks who would probably end up snatching him, anyway.

Despite the fact that I was not only one of the biggest girls in my classes, I was also (nearly always) the tallest. It helped me to get further in life, playing center position in basketball, gaining roles in the school play (never the lead), and of course the pursuit of becoming Instagram’s Next Top Curvy Thot.

But I hated feeling too fat to date…

and how I measured up against boys when I was already a fully grown matured woman.

I had breasts by the time I was in the 2nd grade (yes, I know) and I was already feet above some of the fifth graders. While I think back and wonder why I didn’t have more of a stake in popularity with being an early sprouter, I can’t understand why no one gave me the double take. I know, I’m like 7 by this age, but still. Either I’m just too ignorant or I was too fat and busted-looking. Who knows?

Either way, I hated always being a tall, thick bitch who could eat scrawny boys for every meal of the day. The thought of knowing I was disproportionate to my first boyfriend, who was 5’6, lanky and had a thigh gap (to my envy) was grueling. Meanwhile, I was a thick-thighed Sasquatch standing at 5’10 and…people took notice. Oh I forgot to mention, he was whiter than rice pudding.

I remember when…

I was walking through Herald Square with him and some older Black man approached us and said to him “you can’t handle all that”. Another time in Time Square, some random dude tried to get at me, and I told him I was with my boyfriend, who stepped in and put his hand to the guy’s chest. Needless to say, my boyfriend at the time got cursed the fuck out. Luckily, this less than smart misogynist was engulfed by a crowd of tourists and faded into the back.

It made us both uncomfortable because it was confirmation that in the eyes of society, we didn’t “look” right together. Something was mismatched, and I felt the exact same way. Although I was tall, dark and beautiful, I still got a lot of backhanded compliments from my then boyfriends friends and fam like “I don’t know how he got you” or “oh this is your girlfriend?” in that peaked interest tone that would irk anyone listening.

I’m not going to lie to you, though. I still have the ideal taller, butcher, manly man image taking over my mind. Every girl has an idea on what her perfect match should look like. I’m not perfect and I’m not here to even attempt to play that role. I’m just a fatty letting words roll off my tongue. And I do it because I know I’m not alone in my stream of consciousness.

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