I’m Fat and An 8 Year Old Broke My Spirit Today
The work whistle sounds (at least the imaginary one) and it’s noon time. Noon = lunch. I had been feeling good about myself. My scale registered that I had lost two pounds in the last week, my hair was working well, and my clothes looked good on me. Or so I thought. While I was greedily propelling myself towards my favorite mid-day food troff, I walked past a kid on the sidewalk. I noticed him look at me in a way that told me something bad was a’brewing. Sure enough, as soon as I past I heard him making oinking noises to his friend.
Could he not just do my the common courtesy of waiting until I was out of hearing distance? The critique stung because I know kids can be brutally honest and in his eyes I looked like a pig. That stuck with my all lunch as I sadly scarfed down a sub style sandwhich with chips and diet soda.
I’m 36 and supposed to be able to absorb that kind of immature barb, but what really hurts is I know it’s true.