Are you going to eat all that? Confessions from a BFF.

There are a couple of questions that really irk me.  As I was writing in my journal, I realized I had a lot of bitterness inside for the questions that really make me want to hurl.  And being a full figured gal, there were a plenty.  One thing that I hate is when people question my food choices.  I already know I’m plus sized.  I don’t need to look in the mirror to get a reality check because I see myself every day.  I see every imperfection to the nth power.  I don’t need others to point that stuff out.  What I definitely don’t need, when I sit down to eat, is that dreaded question:  “Are you going to eat all that?”

The answer is, “YES.  I’m going to eat this whole cheeseburger with all the fixings and the steak fries because I paid for it and I WANT it.”  It’s better than stopping off at McDonalds before a Lady’s Night (which is supposed to be a night to relax and splurge) to make up for the bird eating for display purposes only.  I shouldn’t have to answer that question.  If I was 5’7”, 150 pounds, no one would even ask.  So, why are they asking me?  No one asks the group drunk if they are going to drink that 6^th Long Island.

There is only one thing worse than eating with the food police.  When I go out to eat, which is not that often anymore, I want to be able to enjoy a meal.  Perish the thought that I, for once, don’t care how many calories are in a meal.  There comes a time when I’ll want dessert and not have to share it with the whole table in a quest to appear less Miss Piggy-ish.  It’s time out for that.  Really.