The First Thing You Will Notice About Me
What happens when you see a fat person — and when a fat person sees you
The first thing you will notice about me is my belly — too large for simple bloating, too low for pregnancy. You will notice the rolls in my arms and back; the sway of my spine; the comparative thinness of my legs. You will notice my rounded cheeks and the pillow of fat beneath my chin.
You will notice my clothing: a low neckline that seems to offer an apology for the sum of me. You will notice the way it billows and bunches, its poor fit and cheap construction plainly commenting on the body beneath it. You will notice my makeup, the chiaroscuro I have brought to my face, while the rest of me is so unaided. You may wonder, with hope, pity, or disgust, if any man has ever found me attractive. You will still quietly believe that to be impossible.
You will notice that I am the fattest person you have seen all day. You will wonder when I let myself go, how I permitted the slow-motion tragedy of my body to take place. You will be filled, in turn, with sadness and anger that I have allowed myself to fall so far from the thin body that undoubtedly preceded this one.
You will notice your shoulders relaxing, the tension so long calcified in your muscles suddenly releasing. A wave of…
