Illustration by Bob AulSend anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent —to “Hey, You!” c/oOC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at le*****@oc******.com.
I joke with my friends about how I live vicariously through their love lives, but my sense of humor is fading fast—especially after my experience with you last night. I'm not a thin girl—I'm a woman. I have large breasts and hips and strong legs. I may not look good in a bikini, but I'm built to work hard and play hard, and I do. I was sitting at the bar in a pub in Costa Mesa when you came over and sat next to me. For about two minutes, we had a pretty nice conversation. Then you said it. “You know, you're a big girl, but you manage to pull it off somehow.”
“What?” I asked, stunned by your crassness.
“Well, you know, you're one of the only fat chicks I've ever found attractive,” you confided. I played stupid as you dug your own grave. My favorite part was when you leaned in close to my breasts and said conspiratorially, “I just LOVE voluptuous women.” You then used every mainstream, PC, media-supportive piece of fat-girl hyperbole, calling me curvy, plump, a real woman, full-“figured, plus-sized, round, fleshy, Rubenesque, cuddly and zaftig. You suggested we go back to your place and “have some fun,” stating that someone “my size” probably doesn't get many offers.
So tell me this, fathead: Would you tell a thin woman how much you appreciated her bony hips and protruding rib cage, or call her a beanpole, skinny, gaunt, lanky, weedy or scrawny? If there's one thing that completely offends me, it's men who like it in the sheets but can't stand it on the streets. My mother always said that men who have big mouths are making up for their tiny dicks, and if that's the case, honey, you're practically a woman yourself!
I don't need your pity. I'm one foxy chick with everything going for her, and I'll take my fat chances.
