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“Hey, fatso!” the young boys screamed at my companion while speeding their bike right beside her. It caught me unaware and I pushed her towards my side fearing her safety.
Yet, the lady in question was totally undeterred and relaxed. Rather she told me to take a deep breath and stopped me from shouting back (curbing my natural instinct in the process).
Not once did I see her sulking or embarrassed, which is quite the opposite with me. You would have found me writing furiously on the weight factor. Who knows I would have stretched it much beyond by conducting a public poll on my weight factor.
The very next morning I found her at my doorstep asking me to go shopping with her. With my precious weekend just beginning to start, I was in every mood to say “no” if yesterday’s incident wouldn’t have happened in our lives. Retail therapy is a rather popular way of killing depression, I am told.
So, off we went for shopping without a clue of what was waiting for me in particular. She told me about her pledge while I was behind the wheels. Else, I would have faked a headache and ran for life. Only last night she came to the conclusion of loving herself (before loving anybody else). And the best way was to indulge in a perfect pair of denims. Says who, don’t ask me, I have no clue.
But the only issue that she quite conveniently overlooked was the fact that she was “supremely overweight”. I can’t call her fat because my manners won’t let me do that. And the other problem was that the last time she wore a pair of denims was before I was born. My level of confidence was fading while her level of enthusiasm was peaking.
The round to the various malls was a pain I could prefer to forget but wishes are not horses. And that very day I realized how underpaid is our sales guys. I was a mute spectator to the tortures these oh-so-patient sales guys were put through. The trial for that perfect denim started from size 32 and went till the sales guy cried out, “this is the last size we have”. Hope the Almighty forgives me from not saving the desperate. But, dear God, you know how helpless I was!
And each time we came out from the shops, the lady excitedly proclaimed,
“That denim was perfect but just a little tight on my waist.” She continued with her explanation, “You know I don’t wear tight stuff (like you all) otherwise it was just alright”.
I told my prayers and kept shuffling until it was late and her feet gave way. All I got to hear was that they have stopped making denims for real women anymore. That night I hit my bed and wished that those boys should never be able to utter the word “fat” in their lives.
