French Wine, Turkish Kebabs and the descent into FAT Hell

It’s official. I’m a fattie. I’ve joined the wide lane. Crossed over into the universe where eating a pack of chips is a crime. Where having a sandwich is :

Turns out, If you google fat pig, Michelle Obama's picture comes up. How now?


Yeah, I said it, I feel fat.

I’ve never really been the skinny type, except when I was a baby and my doctor had me tested for HIV for ‘failure to thrive’. Turns out that my problem was just that I was just a slow eater with an impatient mother.

Anyway, after the starving children in Sudan episode, I filled out pretty good. Not strictly on the healthy side, but not a quarter pounder with extra cheese either. Let’s call it a little extra cushion.

For a while, everything was fine.

Until France. And this conversation with my friend:

W: Oh Lord, I feel a little heavy…it’s getting hard to walk.

Friend: Yeah, really?

W: been piling on the pounds.

Friend: It’s because you eat a lot of junk. Actually, you are always eating.

W (Saaaay what?): What do you mean?

Friend: Yeah you always eating chips and chocolate.

W: eeerm..right…(because we shared a pack of chips once and a bar of chocolate?)

I feel like this:

yeah..the only thing we are good at is stuffing our faces with junk and wearing inappropriate clothing

I probably look like this:

[Ok, all I could find on google was just lots of pictures of big booties, so I leave it to your imagination.]

That’s when it hit me: In a sea of size sixes and tens, I am officially queen of the fatties. Every bite I take is being watched.

The ‘big is beautiful’ thing doesn’t cut it here. Big is greedy. Big is that bitch who stuffs herself until she can’t move.After all, it is no coincidence that this place is crawling with size sixes and eights. I mean, every one makes fun of the French ‘nouvelle cuisine’, or ‘big plate, three bites and a pretty leaf’ meal plan.

Hence the weird, judgmental conversation about me stuffing my face with chips and junk all day.

And a rambling blog post to bitch about it.

Disclaimer: My self esteem is in no way shattered. My taste buds, however have accepted that they will take a very long walk down the fruit n veg lane. Because I’m not asking for a miracle. I just want to see my toes without breaking into a sweat.

 

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9 thoughts on “French Wine, Turkish Kebabs and the descent into FAT Hell

  1. mehboob

    “I just want to see my toes without breaking into a sweat”..
    This is hilarious! A rant from thee? How about a picture to visualize, because am in denial!
    But then again you said it, “Yeah, I said it, I feel fat.”..quite different from “I am fat” I should think, no?

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  2. mwende

    mrembo… interesting as always 🙂
    funny too. Love the disclaimer part….at least you still know that you got it 😛
    hahaha ati the big french plate is 3 bites and a pretty leaf LOL
    no wonder you turned to the junk 🙂
    miss you

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    1. WairimuM Post author

      oh Lord, Gloria I wish you knew…the irony is I was actually watching out to avoid junk plus working out…but not everything goes to plan. Best believe I still GOT IT though! 🙂

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  3. Mugendi

    ‘failure to thrive’? Is that even a condition? There’s a way you sound like you had one of those medieval ‘ye old quack’ doctor types…
    But there is such a thing as being healthy and being way too healthy… Healthy is knowing when to stop eating, being way too healthy means either you’re in the body beautiful crowd or you plan on how every calorie you are eating now will be ruthlessly sweated out later…
    Interesting blog 🙂

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    1. WairimuM Post author

      ha ha ha, how else do you explain a 10 kg one year old child? Apparently my nickname was ‘lifeline Sudan’…so you can’t blame the doctor too much. One thing for sure, I am definitely amongst the ‘body beautiful’. It’s sink or swim!!

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    1. WairimuM Post author

      of course you can. and then boost the economy by hiring someone to follow you around and translate everything you say

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  4. Pingback: Bullshit masquerading as advice. Ignore « Wairimualiyepotea

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