The Scarlet S

My life is not easier because I am thin. I don’t have an easier time finding cute clothes. People stare at me on the street. People tell me they hate me.

It’s not uncommon that at some point during a conversation I will be shut down simply because I’m thin.

Let me address some of the common insults: 

I’m really the awesome little boy on the left.

Look at you. You can eat anything you want. I just look at food and I gain ten pounds. I do look at me. It’s a side effect of putting on make-up. I can’t eat anything I want. It looks like all I do is eat because I eat every three hours: breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, snack, dinner. My weight fluctuates like anyone else’s. Stress, menstruation, and broccoli means some weeks my pants fit better than others.

You’re so skinny; I hate you. Because all I have to offer is my size-4. Because I don’t have legs to walk me to your side; because I don’t have arms to carry your boxes; because I don’t have a mind to speak, or a heart that beats.

I bet you look good naked. Not like the model image you’re picturing. My ass hasn’t been airbrushed and has been through two pregnancies. I have scars from surgeries. I have scars from history.

You’re so lucky; it must be easy to go shopping. No. No, it’s not. I don’t shop boutique, so I can’t speak to that. I do shop JC Penny’s, TJ Maxx, and Target. Most of what I see with enough interest to check the price isn’t in my size. There are sixes, eights, and twelves. There are plus-sizes. Sometimes I find a 4, but usually in something too old for me.

I bet the guys just fall all over you. Nope. Sorry.

I bet you’ve always been skinny. I gained weight with my first pregnancy and kept it through the second. I lost weight on the divorce diet. Highly effective, terribly unhealthy. I was skinny in college because I puked every morning, because I puked alcohol every morning. Not every morning, though, but Monday through Friday at least.

It’s not easy being green skinny thin. It’s not as easy as you expect. Even the word, skinny, is pretty insulting. I walk into and through stores leaving a wake of up-turned noses, raised eyebrows, and rolled-eyes. I see it. I see it when I pick out apples, and cookies. Stares don’t stop. Gossip doesn’t stop. Snickers don’t stop.