My scone and I were busy minding our own business today when two very fat ladies entered the café. They weren’t just big-boned (an ‘explanation’ often nodded in my direction growing up). No, these ladies were really fat. I don’t know if it’s PC to say fat and quite frankly I don’t care. I’m not judging. Hell, not in a position to really am I?
Anyway, my pot of jam began calling to me, “eat me, eat me,” and I returned to more important matters. However, not everyone else seemed able to. A couple in their 60’s who were sat near me couldn’t take their eyes off these ladies. Nudges followed gasps when the ladies thighs didn’t fit onto the chairs and hung down, their legs akimbo.
“Unbelievable,” the man said to his wife. “You know, you often see skinny men with fat women like that don’t you. Very weird,” replied his wife. “Disgusting,” they said in unison.
I was appalled. I’ve come to love this café, and the people in it, more than Messrs Marks & Spencer ever could and what’s worse is that as I looked around, I could see that this seemed to be the general consensus amongst the café’s clientele.
In their eyes, the circus had come to town.
The two women seemed oblivious. They continued their conversation, drank their tea and left twenty minutes later. Were they oblivious though to the tic-tac-toes ping-ponging around them? I doubt it very much. Being different to ‘the norm,’ I have no doubt they are very much used to the stares.
Whether these women were healthy or happy is not for me, or anyone else to judge. It is their right to live as they wish. I’m sure they’re old enough to understand the health ramifications of being that size, just as I am.
My café feels a little tainted now but I’ll get over it. It’s just a reminder that no-one’s perfect. That, as smiley as people may be on the outside, they’re looking at all your flaws, your choices in life and judging.