So, I’m a full-figured guy. I used to be about 30 pounds over-weight. OK, maybe 50. When I looked at the tables I rocked in at “morbidly obese.” Everyone, even my wife, would say, “No, you are not THAT bad.” (The emphasis carried the clear implication that I was kinda bad, just not THAT bad.) But if you looked at the numbers, they were in the “you’re gonna die” category.
When I was younger I was kinda thin. I don’t think anyone ever called me “skinny,” but up until my 40s, I was never anything near “obese,” morbidly or otherwise.
But then I sat at a desk for a long time, and a knee kinda quit performing, and there was wine and refried beans and tortilla chips. And did I mention wine?
So, for about two decades I have fought this. With sometimes more and sometimes less success. But . . . and here is the deal . . . no matter where I am, weight-wise, near my apex or down nearer my goal, people say to me, “Have you lost weight?”
And while I think it is, absolutely, every time, offered as a positive, generous statement, I think it reflects a less positive underlying message. Here’s my take on this. I think people have me encoded as “fat.” Then they see me, and I’m not THAT fat, so they think I’ve lost weight. When in fact, whether I’ve lost or gained, I’m simply not as fat as the archetypal fat guy they had imagined.
Hey, you look young!
