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Many women belong to the Secret Society of Overweight Sufferers

The Malakoff News of Malakoff, Texas

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Escapades of Emily

Multiple numbers of women in the Secret Society of Overweight Sufferers (kind of makes an acronym for SOS) have this feeling those with normal weight for their height think we others don't know we're fat. This could be true about a few overweight females left with a waist who tuck their tops into their skirts or pants.

We others camouflage the best we can, placing pins where you can't see, doing our best to hide the rolls that can't be buttered.

I've worn a few dresses unzipped halfway in the back, but covered by a jacket, so I could fit into the outfit and go outside.

We don't want to flaunt our size, unless we're really proud of it, because we've been so skinny or we are tired of this type of lying. Some give up from the exhaustion of hiding what we really can't.

I know a solid color dress past my knees with a pretty short or long-sleeve jacket can help me look the best possible. When you see that sleeveless solid-color dress, please call me, even if you have to use 9-1-1.

My feelings still are not kind about a remark from a skinny woman who said my long, umbrella gauze skirts made me look fatter. And I was wearing them to hide my poundage. What a catch 22.

Of course, wise women say we are what we are. We feel fine. But some like me suffer healthwise, or will, because we don't weigh normal. I'm always starting a new way to eat better and trim down. Maybe every day. Most of us hate to weigh. I threw my scales out. My clothing is a rather good indicator of what the weight world is doing.

When we think nothing can get worse, "shrinking" in height begins. Where does the body stuff from the shrinking go? It sticks on the sides to make us wider.

Then comes a rainbow that makes me smile because of my age, my weight, my attitude. I joined an exercise club, not to lose pounds, but to gain stamina. I decided to go to a back corner where stood authentic scales.

Removing my shoes, I tried to balance the niches to get my weight. No numbers were visible. I knew in a way where the mental counters should be, but that wouldn't do. Then I saw a handsome, young employee and asked for help.

"The numbers are on this side," he said.

Why? Then he said after some machine adjustment, "Something's wrong with these scales. They are not right."

I nearly teared up. He did not want to tell what the scale showed. He did not think the numbers were right. (He was slender, naive.)

I lowered my voice, and said, "It's okay. The scales are probably right. Whisper what they read."

He did. I told him the scales weren't broken. I walked off smiling, thinking how someone had really reared a nice young man, who would probably go far in life, and never have a weight problem. (Is this a pun?)



Copyright 2016 The Malakoff News, Malakoff, Texas. All Rights Reserved. This content, including derivations, may not be stored or distributed in any manner, disseminated, published, broadcast, rewritten or reproduced without express, written consent from SmallTownPapers, Inc.

Original Publication Date: July 10, 2016



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