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I should probably explain that I am seriously conflicted about the alternating feelings I have between wanting to scream to the world “OMG, I LOST 10 LBS!” (hey, see what I did there?) and understanding that the urge to do that is mired in patriarchal and fat shaming baggage.

I think I need to go back and read this essay without my snark-goggles.


Or rather, I do. You may know the one I mean – the look from someone who disapproves of the act of eating while female.

In this case, I was walking back to my office with a plate from the staff cafeteria. On it was a sandwich I made from the sandwich bar – chicken salad with nuts and cherries, tomato, whole grain bread. Well, it would have been all whole grain dark wheat bread, but there was only one piece left, so I topped it with a slice of the “whole grain white”, however that works. Plus a small helping of potato salad (I’m a sucker for the potato salad) and some tabbouleh.

A full plate? Yes. I’m hungry and I have a migraine and I feel like I’m gonna pass out over here. I need food and I need starch and protein and I need options. And, you know, I’m fisking hungry. Not that any of this is any of her business. And it really shouldn’t matter if my plate is full of lettuce or chocolate, let alone a relatively balanced lunch full of foods I enjoy eating. And it really doesn’t matter that a few years ago the person shooting this look¬†weighed a lot more and lost the weight and is keeping it off with a strict diet and daily exercise. More power to her and I hope it makes her happy.

None of that gives her the right to look me up and down, between my full plate and my inbetweenie ass, and to give me a look of utter disgust.