This constant rain is annoying. And frustrating.
However, it seems to be the perfect surrounding environment for a slight head cold and a terrible Tuesday. I know, it's not even 8am and I'm being negative. But ask yourself a question before you judge me - when have you ever liked a Tuesday? It's the second worst day of the week, since it follows Monday. You let me know if you actually enjoy a Tuesday and I'll eat my words. Hey, fat kids eat anything, right?
Moving along, as rain drops the size of small children streak down the windows I find myself immediately regretting coming into work today. When you're in bed, in the warmth and comfort of your little shell, the outside world hardly exists, hell, it hardly even matters. It's only when you go away from that comfort zone are you faced with the ridiculousness that is this weather which has nearly all of Massachusetts in a State of Emergency, OBama is even saying we're a disaster zone. How will anyone take us seriously we if declare the Cape a disaster zone? Last I checked, we weren't bowled over by a tsunami and we're hardly suffering from a hurricane. So, on that note, go back to the State of Emergency, give everyone the funding they need and stop trying to make such a media plea. What're we, the state that cried wolf?
Onto the actual point of this blog, the life of a fat kid. I have a slight story to tell. I promised myself this past friday that my next blog post would be about fat kids in tiny booths. Now, before you laugh, really think about this. When you're a hostess at a restaurant and three overweight (but fabulous!) women walk in, you know you judge us. You're sizing us up, maybe you even like my purse (which, I'm sure she did!) but you're also thinking of what table you're going to seat us at. Immediately to your left is a section slightly packed with large booths (could easily seat six skinny kids, four fat kids) and tables, with movable chairs. Behind you, the salad bar, just past that, the worst section in the restaurant. It's the section where the booths are so small, it's mean to be private dining for two people or maybe, if you're lucky, four skinny kids. Autotmatically, while you're estimating the size of my waist line, a red flag should have went up. Do not sit the fat kids in the tiny kid section. They make large booths for a reason, for this reason specifically. So, at that point, feel free to tell us to wait while a table is clearing out. However, that wasn't what our hostess did. She brought us over to the skinny kid section and as she watched three fats way the pros and cons of the current obstacle we faced, she told us to enjoy our meal. I slid in first, because it's rule of thumb that the one who can be squished, should. So. Ash gets her side of the table all to herself, while Jill squeezes in with me. Keyword here is squeezed. I wanted to grab that hostess by her ponytail and drag her back to our section and ask her how I'm suppose to enjoy my meal when I can't even breathe. Can't swallow food if you can't even breathe, oh, but let's not get ahead of ourselves - you need elbow room so you can cut your food, drink your drink, even lift your fork from your plate to your mouth. Maybe I came to the restaurant just to look at the food, smell it even.
If most of the country is overweight these days, why hasn't anyone actually embraced this population and tweaked it to their advantage. Don't ask me, because I'm baffled. You would think that restaurants want business, whether it be from a skinny kid or a fat kid, they want you to come in and enjoy their menus. Well. Word from the wise, if you want us to come in, take our time, stay a while, maybe drink some of your mouth watering mojitos, you should focus on making our stay there totally enjoyable. If I'm squished in a booth, my goal will be to eat my food and get the hell out of there before I not only burst a button from my jeans, I may also crack the table from the pressure of it. I'm not going to sit around, suffocating, in a booth that's ridiculously uncomfortable. I am going to leave. However, had you placed me in a nice large booth, with room to breathe, maybe even sit comfortably, I would have stayed a while, chatted, maybe even bought one too many of those gorgeous latte's your offer. If restaurants made their settings more fat kid friendly, we would all be more inclined to stick around and enjoy the evening instead of pay the check, run outside and fall to the ground gasping for oxygen. OKay, I'm being dramatic. You get the point though, don't you? Common knowledge. We were taught this lesson when we were in preschool. The square block will not fit through the round slot, just like a fat kid will not fit into a tiny booth. Hell, don't stick a fat kid in any small spaces, at least not unless they ask - and if they do, I suggest you run away very quickly.
With that being said, I wanted to share something I discovered the other day. As most of you know my sister and I have recently moved into our new apartment and we're still settling in, we're both on a hunt for bedsets we both like. Which, is a nearly impossible task. Well, my mother subscribes to every magazine humanly possible and she gave me one called Brylane Home. I flipped through it only quickly, when something on the front cover caught my attention. Plus-size living at Brylane Home. Ah, darling magazine, you've caught my attention. Jill and I began flipping through the section and this is what we found:
However, it seems to be the perfect surrounding environment for a slight head cold and a terrible Tuesday. I know, it's not even 8am and I'm being negative. But ask yourself a question before you judge me - when have you ever liked a Tuesday? It's the second worst day of the week, since it follows Monday. You let me know if you actually enjoy a Tuesday and I'll eat my words. Hey, fat kids eat anything, right?
Moving along, as rain drops the size of small children streak down the windows I find myself immediately regretting coming into work today. When you're in bed, in the warmth and comfort of your little shell, the outside world hardly exists, hell, it hardly even matters. It's only when you go away from that comfort zone are you faced with the ridiculousness that is this weather which has nearly all of Massachusetts in a State of Emergency, OBama is even saying we're a disaster zone. How will anyone take us seriously we if declare the Cape a disaster zone? Last I checked, we weren't bowled over by a tsunami and we're hardly suffering from a hurricane. So, on that note, go back to the State of Emergency, give everyone the funding they need and stop trying to make such a media plea. What're we, the state that cried wolf?
Onto the actual point of this blog, the life of a fat kid. I have a slight story to tell. I promised myself this past friday that my next blog post would be about fat kids in tiny booths. Now, before you laugh, really think about this. When you're a hostess at a restaurant and three overweight (but fabulous!) women walk in, you know you judge us. You're sizing us up, maybe you even like my purse (which, I'm sure she did!) but you're also thinking of what table you're going to seat us at. Immediately to your left is a section slightly packed with large booths (could easily seat six skinny kids, four fat kids) and tables, with movable chairs. Behind you, the salad bar, just past that, the worst section in the restaurant. It's the section where the booths are so small, it's mean to be private dining for two people or maybe, if you're lucky, four skinny kids. Autotmatically, while you're estimating the size of my waist line, a red flag should have went up. Do not sit the fat kids in the tiny kid section. They make large booths for a reason, for this reason specifically. So, at that point, feel free to tell us to wait while a table is clearing out. However, that wasn't what our hostess did. She brought us over to the skinny kid section and as she watched three fats way the pros and cons of the current obstacle we faced, she told us to enjoy our meal. I slid in first, because it's rule of thumb that the one who can be squished, should. So. Ash gets her side of the table all to herself, while Jill squeezes in with me. Keyword here is squeezed. I wanted to grab that hostess by her ponytail and drag her back to our section and ask her how I'm suppose to enjoy my meal when I can't even breathe. Can't swallow food if you can't even breathe, oh, but let's not get ahead of ourselves - you need elbow room so you can cut your food, drink your drink, even lift your fork from your plate to your mouth. Maybe I came to the restaurant just to look at the food, smell it even.
If most of the country is overweight these days, why hasn't anyone actually embraced this population and tweaked it to their advantage. Don't ask me, because I'm baffled. You would think that restaurants want business, whether it be from a skinny kid or a fat kid, they want you to come in and enjoy their menus. Well. Word from the wise, if you want us to come in, take our time, stay a while, maybe drink some of your mouth watering mojitos, you should focus on making our stay there totally enjoyable. If I'm squished in a booth, my goal will be to eat my food and get the hell out of there before I not only burst a button from my jeans, I may also crack the table from the pressure of it. I'm not going to sit around, suffocating, in a booth that's ridiculously uncomfortable. I am going to leave. However, had you placed me in a nice large booth, with room to breathe, maybe even sit comfortably, I would have stayed a while, chatted, maybe even bought one too many of those gorgeous latte's your offer. If restaurants made their settings more fat kid friendly, we would all be more inclined to stick around and enjoy the evening instead of pay the check, run outside and fall to the ground gasping for oxygen. OKay, I'm being dramatic. You get the point though, don't you? Common knowledge. We were taught this lesson when we were in preschool. The square block will not fit through the round slot, just like a fat kid will not fit into a tiny booth. Hell, don't stick a fat kid in any small spaces, at least not unless they ask - and if they do, I suggest you run away very quickly.
With that being said, I wanted to share something I discovered the other day. As most of you know my sister and I have recently moved into our new apartment and we're still settling in, we're both on a hunt for bedsets we both like. Which, is a nearly impossible task. Well, my mother subscribes to every magazine humanly possible and she gave me one called Brylane Home. I flipped through it only quickly, when something on the front cover caught my attention. Plus-size living at Brylane Home. Ah, darling magazine, you've caught my attention. Jill and I began flipping through the section and this is what we found:
That monster is called the Hong Kong chair. It's the perfect tailgating chair for the large-than-average back ends that enjoy, too. The chair supports up to 800 pounds! 800! That's pretty amazing, considering all the chairs I found last summer while I was searching for tailgate chairs that were fat kid friendly barely supported over 300 lbs. The price is a bit steep, as it's listed at $99.99 but honestly, it's reallllly worth the price. 800 lbs. Do I need to keep repeating this? Besides that detail, it looks pretty damn comfortable, too. I decided to read through the buyer comments just to get a feel for if the product lived up to all the height, and this one comment made me laugh out loud.
"WE ALL KNOW THAT A LOT OF PLACES ARE NOT FIT FOR OVERWEIGHT PEOPLE, SO I CARRY MY CHAIR EVERYWHERE I GO JUST IN CASE THEY DON'T HAVE A DECENT CHAIR TO SIT IN." - a woman from Florida posted.
Well shit, doesn't that fit the theme of this post rather perfectly? Ah, sometimes it feels so good to be right. Hope ya'll enjoyed my little rant, as it's now time to go to work.
Yep, Tuesday, I'm pretty sure we're breaking up. Until next time, ya'll.
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