I won't be reading Skinny Bitch. I love meat and I have a freakishly high metabolism. Plus I only take Posh's recommendations on historical fiction.
But I can guess why everyone's snatching it up: The obesity crisis is so grim - one-third of us obese, two-thirds overweight - that if anyone can inject humor into the discussion, things might seem a little less dire. Most everyone agrees that America needs to lose weight - and lots of it. Our life expectancy now lags behind 41 other countries.
And yet ... I'm conflicted. Not every overweight person should lose weight. My trip this past weekend to Minneapolis was bookended by the downside - and the upside - of fat. I'll explain...
***
To get to JFK airport on Friday, I decided to take the train and save $60 in cab fare. When I got on the train there was only one unoccupied seat in the car, at the right side of a very fat man. But the man was taking up more than his seat, his stomach sprawling, spilling onto the empty seat - like lava flowing from Mount Saint Helens. I went and stood over him. He looked up from his Sudoku puzzle, his eyes half open, took a deep breath, and with great effort leaned his body onto his left (port side) buttock. As the train car creaked, a good deal of his stomach rolled back from the "empty" seat, providing a small space for me.
I thanked him and sat down. But because it was still only three-quarters empty, I was squeezing into a too-small space - and caught my pocket in the armrest to the right of my seat.
Riiiiipppppp. Along the right side of my Moschino khaki trousers, a horrendous tear opened up.
Above: The tear in my Moschino trousers, courtesy of the fat man.
When standing, the damage was less noticeable. (Those are threads around the tear, not hairs.)
I was furious at the man. I wanted him to see the tear himself, to acknowledge what he had done to my pants, so that he would never forget! But to turn my body around in that small space, so that he could see my exposed right buttock, wasn't worth the effort.
Yet in my anger at him - and at the many overweight people who've crowded me over the years (have you flown out of O'Hare?!) - I suddenly had a flashback:
In the late 1970s and early '80s I accompanied my parents to a number of grownup Christmas parties. I loved grownup Christmas parties for one main reason: the Christmas cookies! The thin tree-shaped cookies with green and red sprinkles would make me tremble with ecstasy. I couldn't stop gobbling them up off the tray, throwing back Hawaiian punch like a lush, to wash them down.
Christianity may not have a perfect history. But as far as I'm concerned, Christmas cookies more than make up for the Crusades.
I remember one party in 1979, in Northern Virginia - before NoVA was yuppified and stripped of character. I wore a tan Pierre Cardin suit and, precocious 10 year old that I was, I made my usual chit-chat with the adults: "I bet the Iranian hostages will be released before next Christmas!" I chirped.
As was customary, most of the grownups got tired of indulging me. But sitting on the sofa there was one woman who invited me to sit next to her. She was an older woman and she was big. Not just big-boned, but big-butted and big-breasted. And strong. A proud country woman, the kind who oversee weekend flea markets with military authority, undaunted by heat, mosquitoes, or brittle bargain-hunting city women. Tonight she was wearing her holiday best, some sort of green damask, her dark hair in a modified beehive. (Imagine a woman in a Far Side cartoon.)
I sidled up to the Giant-Breasted Virginia Country Woman, eating my cookies and yapping away: "When Amy Carter goes to school, she has Secret Service agents!"
"Now is that right?" she asked, her accent thick, her mountainous chest heaving up and down as she laughed.
But pretty soon, the sugar hit me - and I started to crash. I wanted nothing more than to lie down ... and sleep. But where?
"Babies who live near Three ... Mile ... Island ... have ... an ... extra ..." I trailed off, half a cookie dropping onto my lap. I had no more energy.
That's when the GBVCW came to the rescue. As my eyelids fluttered shut, she mobilized: she put her arm around me, gripped my shoulder with her paw, and pulled my head into her breasts. And I plunged into dreamland.
Her bounteous Old Dominion boobs were bliss, nirvana, heaven. I slept for only 20, 30 minutes tops. But it was probably the deepest sleep I'll ever have. Her breasts could have cured the worst sufferer of sleep apnea! Had the Giant-Breasted Virginia Country Woman been thin, even normal weight, she would have been useless to me at that critical moment. If a picture existed of the GBVCM, I'd post it.
Luckily my weekend to Minneapolis-St. Paul ended with another brush with the same kind of woman.
The flight back to New York aboard Sun Country Airlines was full. I spent the whole time reading, until the snack cart rolled to a stop by me. I looked up - and that's when I saw Barb.
Awesomely Big-Breasted Barb didn't have quite the height of the GBVCW, but she projected the same power - with a funky twist. She wore cat glasses, but with clear frames, and a pair of dangly earrings. (The modern American woman's rejection of dangly earrings is a scandal and the subject for a future posting.) Her hair was short and she had lots of arty jewelry on her wrists and fingers. Otherwise, she was good old-fashioned Germanic girth, Teutonic tonnage. As wide and steady as the Battleship Bismarck. (The Royal Navy would stand no chance against this vessel.) Barb was beautiful.
I rushed to pull my camera out of the overhead. Then, conscious of the presence of an air marshal somewhere on the plane, I very carefully tried to take a picture of her.
Above: Barb getting ready to toss a Turkey Pastrami sandwich and cookie at me. The look of consternation on my face is meant to suggest to suspicious passengers that I'm simply trying to take a self-portrait. In fact I'm trying to get a shot of Awesomely Big-Breasted Barb (AB3).
I took a great risk in getting this picture of Barb. (Across the aisle sat a Nordic-looking St. Paulite. He seemed nervous when I began playing with my camera. I was convinced he was about to tackle me.) But I wanted my readers to get a sense of AB3.
By the end of the trip, I was cranky, my neck was aching, and I wanted nothing more than to sit on Barb's lap, my face in her breasts, and sleep. (Presumably we'd need a seat belt extender to strap the two of us in for landing.) Of course that didn't happen. But it was my fervent wish.
I guess what I'm saying is, I understand America needs to lose weight. But what will happen to all the women like GBVCW and AB3? The culture could indeed lose something important.
Do you have relatives or family friends like these two women? Have they given similar comfort at tired, cranky times? Please share your remembrances of generous big women with gigantic breasts!!
Reader Comments ( Page 9 of 10)
121. i am so sick and tired of women claiming they wear a size 12 who really don't i am 5'7" 135 and i wear a size 12 at some stores. its annoying because i see people who say they wear this size and i'm like do i look like that? but all i have to do is look in the mirror and see that is impossible. so tell the truth size 18s if you really are all about owning for full figures. Your size at expensive stores is a big pile of poo. At those stores i wear a 4. which i also know is total cow surprise. now ya'll have a good day
frigging at 12:58PM on Aug 16th 2007
122. Reply to frigging:
It all has to do with where the weight lands. I am also 5'7 and 135...but I DO wear a size 12. My weight tends to land in my breasts. The guys don't seem to complain...but to me...they get heavy. It sounds like your weight may land in your butt or middle (please don't get mad at me...I'm not trying to cause a problem...just a guess). Either way...the weight is somewhere...it's all in your genes for where it goes to. I have a good friend who is close to the same height and weight but she is a much larger size than me because she has a huge butt (her words...not mine). She doesn't look bad...she just looks different. I have the boobs and not much of a butt and she has the butt and not much in the way of boobs. It doesn't really matter what you weigh so much as where you carry the weight.
Beth at 3:42PM on Aug 16th 2007
123. Mo, first of all, i must say that i've been a fan for years. You never fail to offer a humorous & intelligent perspective on myriad topics.
This article certainly made me smile, but also a little sad, that as larger women, we must settle for being "comfortable". We may certainly be that, but we are many, many other things as well. We shouldn't have to just be thought of as matronly safe-harbors for weary children.
As a tall, sturdy, comfortable woman hailing from study German, Irish & Swedish stock I have never had to worry about being too thin & told to go eat a cookie. And yes, throughout adolescence & early adulthood, I stuggled with my body image, but then i came to realize all that this body has allowed me to do.
My body let me give birth & nurture 2 big healthy baby boys. It has allowed me to move furniture & carry heavy boxes with ease. It has given me the priviledge to be able to serve as a firefighter & EMT in my community, fighting fires & helping those in need while wearing the cumbersome bunker gear & safety equipment. My ample bosom has served to soothe even the fussiest of babies, lulling them into an easy slumber. But what many people don;t seem to realize is that these bigger, stronger, nurturing,"comfortable" women also have the capacity to be sexy as hell & render even a six-pack possessing adonis utterly speechless with gratitude.
And to the "comfortable" men out there...bless you!
I was married to a very thin man, I have dated that grateful adonis & now i have the priviledge of a boyfriend who is much taller than I & who has "more to love" as well. There was nothing comforting about resting my head on a bony shoulder, even though he cared for me in other ways. But now i can drift off into a deep sleep wrapped in those big, strong, soft arms or rest my head on his tummy when we lay down to watch a movie (or maybe even Mo on Iron Chef America) ;)
What so many of us seem to lose sight of from time to time is that it doesn't matter what is on the outside. Whether we are short, tall, thin or have gigantic comfy bosoms, as long as we have kindness & compassion in our hearts, we all have something to offer.
amylou at 5:47PM on Aug 16th 2007
124. Thanks for the great story. It brought back my grandmother who died when I was in high-school. I still miss her. She was short but very big on top. When she hugged you it felt like being smothered. It was very conforting. Our mother has always been thin so it never felt the same. I was looking for something else but I'm glad I came across you.
Lin at 6:50PM on Aug 16th 2007
125. Thanks for that fun twist on obesity in America. I am a BBW, or "fat" for you skinny bitches ;-), and have put many a child to sleep on my DD's. I also had a boyfriend who wished his last breath to be between them. Of course now I just wish he'd take his last breath....but that's another posting. Call me any time if you need a nap, Mo, I always have them with me.
Jenn at 10:53AM on Aug 17th 2007
126. This was too funny for me. It's nice to think that when my children grow up, I will have made a similar impression on them. I was a stay at home mom/teddy bear artist for about 6 years and had put on about 30lbs over that time, sitting and sewing and eating what my metabollically gifted kids could eat. Over the last year, thru life stress and all, I lost 15, and I have to tell you, my 7 yr old daughter was not overly pleased. She happens to love her "round mommy". When she's tired, or not feeling well, and laying with me, her hand rubs circles on my belly, like you might do when wishing on a buddha statue. Sometimes it makes me uncomfortable, I normally would hate to be touched in a "fat spot", but the reverence she shows when so engaged actually makes me feel bad for wanting to lose the rest of the weight.
I also have no problem giving hugs to anyone, relative strangers included. When you are the person walking around with the large breasts, you pretty much know that half the people hugging you are only doing it to come into contact with them. There certainly is no insult in that (unless of course, the hug turns into a rub...)and I usually take it for a compliment. Thanks for reminding me that the admiration isn't always sexual, and that it might just be sentimental instead.
Alisha at 11:15AM on Aug 17th 2007
127. (Hey Psst Mo! AB3 was the Air Marshall.)
robby at 5:20AM on Aug 18th 2007
128. Yo Clay, I've an idea. Take a Xanax and get thee to a nunnery.
To be thin and equate healty with aforementioned at times is an oxymoron.
The younger adults and teens these days average 89-95 pounds. This is incredibly UNHEALTHY. Your body feeds on your muscle at this ridiculous weight. If you care to have a female underweight maybe it's due to the fact that you actually are pining away for a 12 year old boy. Same diff'.
Apparently you , as moronic as you sound, should try to read a few books, buy a dictionary and then you may have a proper command of the English language. This would give you the ability to describe something or someone you find offensive without the use of the vocabulary of A !@ YEAR OLD.
Proof positive of your denial.
rhoda lee at 10:03AM on Aug 18th 2007
129. Hell, I like all bitches- fat ones - skinny ones
Kenneth Skiles at 5:58PM on Sep 11th 2007
130. I can't imagine my mumsie being a skinny bitch. She was once skinny, for a couple years when a flight attendent.
She was never obese, but she was big boned. Always had a small bum, touche. But I found her much more comforting just as she was.
Mo, Posh Spice is scaring me. I don't need to explain: I think you can sense these things. The ultra blond hair just makes me want to cry: her brunette self was real - this is from another dimension. My Brit friends are glad she's gone - lucky them!
Annette Sturdevant at 9:46AM on Aug 20th 2007
131. Yes, thank God for fat people. Who would wear those size 44 shorts and walk around in Wal Mart so you can go "Ewwwwwwwwww, gross" while shopping there. They are the one that make you thankful that there are average people around and also make you realize, just because it come in your size, doesn't mean that you should buy it.
Tom at 11:26AM on Aug 20th 2007
132. Hahahahaha hahahahahaha *breathe* hahaha. You wear tighty whitey's.
Ashlee at 4:08PM on Aug 23rd 2007
133. mo you're off the hinges, fatty.
cat stevens at 5:15PM on Aug 27th 2007
134. I'm a little overweight, but not huge. However, I do have giant comfy breasts and even had them when I was thin. So, when the world loses these big women with comfy breasts, I can be your backup.
K at 3:27AM on Aug 28th 2007
135. i am somewhere in between normal and fat. tend to think of myself as simply lightly padded (i'm incredibly fit in terms of physical ability, i'm just of eastern european peasant stock). and i love my body...and i've been that woman...i think one of the greatest compliments i've ever received was from a 5 year old who once told me that i was more fun to hug than his other teacher (at a summer program for gifted kids) because i was "squooshy" and she was "pointy" and that i made a nice comfy chair for him when he wanted to sit in a lap. that ability -- to have your mere presence prduce a sense of safety and comfort -- more valuable than looking like the women on the cover of a million fashion mags.
noonday at 12:34AM on Sep 14th 2007