If you follow my Facebook Fan Page, you know I had a big Pampered Chef party at my house on Saturday night.  Traditionally, a selection of yummy, creative food is prepared and served at these parties and I had decided to serve a new Pampered Chef recipe:  Chicago-Style Hot Dog Bites.  This solved the nibble problem for me, since the recipe contains pickles.  Nothing tickles my gag reflex faster than pickles (except maybe a Kardashian).  The Chicago Style Hot Dog bites looked very pretty – thanks to pals Brenda & Lauren, who did the bulk of the work – but there was no way I was going to eat one!  Pickles are the devil!!

To get ready for the big shindig, I schlepped my four butts to the grocery store Saturday morning for recipe supplies and general party hoo-hah.  My plan was to get in and out as quickly as possible, so that I could get home and focus on the party prep stuff.  In the produce section, there was a woman blocking the aisle with her cart.  Do we all hate it when someone does this or is it just me?  It always amazes me when someone is so unaware of themselves that they just stop their shit in the middle of an aisle, blocking anyone from passing in either direction.  Highway rules should always apply when it comes to aisles, hallways, sidewalks, or escalators:  pass on the left, slower traffic keep right, and pull over to the damn side if you’re going to stop…moron!

This particular idjit with bad shopping cart etiquette was wearing yoga pants, which she definitely had the body for, but I always think of that internet meme “My yoga pants have never been to yoga.”

Whether this is true for her or not, I’ll never know and I certainly wasn’t going to judge – however, she was perfectly coiffed and her make-up was spotless – so I doubt she was just stopping at the store after 30 minutes of “northbound facing rainbow stance”.  (Sorry, I don’t know yoga-speak!)  I didn’t really care what her deal was, I just needed her to move her yoga pants out of my way.  She was so engrossed in her search for the perfect bulb of garlic that she was oblivious to the fact that anyone was close by, so I followed my own standard procedure that I use whenever I meet up with an aisle hog.

“Excuse me,” I said very sweetly, making sure I was smiling at the poor oblivious creature.  “Can I just squeeze by you real quick?”

Most of the time the offending aisle hog moves over and mutters an apology of some sort, to which I reply “Oh, it’s no problem – have a great day!”  (And no, I don’t really mean it’s no problem, but I can’t bring myself to say “Nice aisle manners!  Do you stop your Escalade in the middle of the road to answer your cell phone, butt munch???”)

They probably do.  Don’t get me started.

But Yoga Pants was different.  Yoga Pants did not respond by moving over and muttering an apology.  Noooo.  Yoga Pants looked up and made no secret that she was 100% disgusted at the fat person who was…alarmingly close.  She looked like she was afraid she would get the fat cooties if I came any closer.  She was appalled.  Silly me, here I was miffed that she was hogging up the aisle and apparently she was the one who should be pissed at the fatty trying to shop in her produce section.  Or perhaps my obese-ness was so alarming that she thought I was there to eat her.  She looked afraid.  Perhaps I should have assured her that she looked far too crunchy for my taste.  Her collar bone was way pointy.

As if the awkward, horrified reaction wasn’t enough, she did something I really  hate:  she looked me up and down as she moved her cart over.  I hate the up and down look.  It’s just effing rude.  I could feel her watching me as I moved past her and grabbed some green onions, then moved on to the herbs.  I could see her out of the corner of my eye – still watching me as I moved around the produce section.  Was it that shocking to see a fat person shopping for produce?  I probably really freaked her out.  Perhaps she thought I was lost and needed directions to the snack cakes…and here I blew her mind by going right for the green veggies.  Poor thing!

The problem with idjits in the grocery store, however, is that once you find them you have 15 more aisles in which to encounter them…because every time you turn the corner, there they are again.  Yoga Pants was slinking up the chips aisle when I saw her next.  I tossed two bags of tortilla chips in my cart and she looked almost relieved, as if she was thinking “Everything makes sense in the world again, the fatty went for the chips!”

We met up again on the coffee/breakfast aisle.  As she passed, she looked into my cart to see what I had.  As if in slow motion, I watched her eyes dart over the veggies, the non-fat milk, the tortilla chips, and the box of Special K Vanilla Almond cereal in my cart.  Seriously, I was liking her less and less with every aisle that came along.  Keep your eyeballs out of my cart, bitch. 

I’ve lost count of the number of times some nosy-ass has sneaked a peek into my cart – or stolen a glance at my plate in a restaurant.  It always infuriates me.  If you think I’m kidding, then I encourage you to don a fat suit that packs an extra 200 pounds on your body and try to go about your normal day.  You’d be surprised as hell at the gumption some people have just because you’re a fatty for a day.  Something snapped…and as she rounded the corner and came up the canned goods aisle, I decided to stoop to her level.

She approached me and I peeked when she peeked – and I’ll tell you what:  it was an eye opener.  The first thing I saw:  Pop Tarts.  Not just one little box…two huge value packs of Pop Tarts.  And then there were the cheese poofies that she obviously picked up on the chips aisle while she was glaring at my tortilla chips.

I had to make a detour to the dairy case, lest my Chicago Style Hot Dog bites not be cheesy.  Yoga Pants and I met up again as I started down the pasta aisle.  She peeked at my sharp cheddar, so I peeked and discovered at least 15 boxes of crap-in-a-box (aka Hamburger Helper).  Whaaaat?

Hey, Yoga Pants!  You’re going to partially hydrogenate yourself to an early grave.  But, by all means, please keep giving us fatties the stink eye when we invade the produce section.  Kiss my rapidly reducing ass.  🙂

I have a real beef with folks who judge a book by its cover – and some of you may think I’m doing the same with Yoga Pants here, but I assure you…when you’ve spent 20+ years on the fat end of the scale you understand how the world works when it comes to pecking order.  Many of you have encouraged me to write a book (which I’m doing) and perhaps the chapter on fatties versus fitties will convince you.  Till then, you’ll just have to trust me – unless you live the same experience I do, and I know some of you do!  I can tell the different between a fleeting glance and the nosy stare of some ass-hat who’s got nothing better to do than judge a hottie-in-training like me.

By the time we were steering towards the check-out lanes, I was as equally disgusted with her as she was with me & my four asses.  Every kind of pre-packaged, processed food was in her cart – not to mention those heavenly Circus Animal cookies.  Jesus, that was a bit hard to take.  One look at that pink & purple packaging and I could feel the sugar rushing to my ovaries just like the good old days!  Someone give me a turkey burger…STAT!

I shook off the experience and went on with the rest of my day, but I knew that when the Pampered Chef fun was over I was going to come back around and have to write about this.  I actually intended to post this yesterday, but Hemi the cat needed something warm for her belly and decided that my laptop was the perfect resting place.  In about 5 seconds, her belly deleted a day’s worth of work (sometimes my auto-save is a lying bitch).  So here I am today… a little late, but still full of piss & vinegar when it comes to Yoga Pants and her Pop Tart guzzling brood.  To make matters worse, I intended to post this hours ago…but I sliced through the tip of my thumb while making dinner (pics of the big bandage are on my Facebook Fan Page. LOL).  Thank God for that tetanus shot I had in 2010 when I sliced another fingertip off while making chips in the microwave.  Damn carbs!

In other news, Mr. Scale has not yet budged.  I’m hoping to get him to move a little more before my uterus starts setting up for the 7 Dwarfs of the Apocalypse.  Perhaps he needs another visit to the table saw.  🙂

The party is over, my mother-in-law has just gone home…and my newly bandaged thumb is throbbing less, so I’m on my way to bed.  I am loving the comments, the Facebook messages, and the emails y’all are sending…you have no idea how much you keep me going.  🙂

Big love!