Broken

Ben broke me.

Some of you may recall Ben from some of my earliest writing on this blog. For those of you who don't, don't worry too much. Just know that he broke me.

Here's the thing. I loved him. Dear merciful deity-of-your-preference, I completely loved him. And he strung me along as the back-up plan for years. I doubt he realized what he was doing, honestly, because the instant his parents told him he really ought to just marry me already, he went completely twitchy and weird on me. But in his own way, he loved me just as much in return. I found that out eventually, when he confessed his feelings. It was long after the time when we could be together. In fact, as heart wrenching as it was to hear those words, I was totally over him by then. Too little, too late, Ben.

That didn't repair the damage he did to me though.

I had this epiphany this weekend, while I stood at a trade fair, smiling and greeting people for my tupperware business.

On Friday night, a younger-than-me, tall, handsome in that blue-collar, stubbley, take-him-to-the-shower-and-get-naughty-with-the-lather way guy came into my booth to chat me up about tupperware. Seriously. He wanted to know about containers for lunches because he hates sandwiches and wanted warm meals. At the fire hall. Now, my recent experience with firefighters leads me to believe they are either married or gay, so I assumed someone was in his life and he was just asking about microwavable containers.

Until he asked if we could go over his options over coffee. I furrowed my brow in confusion and laughed. He was insistent. Or if I wasn't comfortable talking shop, we could just go out. Maybe I'd be interested in a date. It took him asking twice, and using the word 'date' twice before I realized he was actually interested in me. And since he didn't know me from Adam, he was interested in me, based on my looks.

I carefully explained that if he was really asking me out, I was flattered but would have to decline.

When he walked away, the words of a good friend echoed in my head, and a lightbulb flashed.

My friend said, "Everybody loves a fat man." He was laughing and patting his somewhat large belly when he said it, and at the time, somewhat enviously, I thought to myself, "but no one loves a fat woman". You need only look as far as advertising, television, clothing manufacturers to see that. Fat women are taught to feel shame, to question their desirability and expect to be lonely.

In case you didn't know (and I don't often discuss it), I am a fat woman. I've always been fat. I didn't suddenly blimp out after high school, or after I landed a man. I've always been big. And when I say I'm fat, I'm not talking 40-50 pounds overweight. I fall firmly in the top end of the 'obese' category. I am a big girl.

I was horrified when my prince won the tournament that would make us prince and princess. Because I knew it meant people would be taking pictures of me. And my flab would be recorded for posterity. When family want to buy me clothes, I recommend they just give me gift certificates so I can endure the torture on my own. When it comes to costuming for the medieval society I belong to, I do all my own. I say it's because no one else knows my stuff, which is true. But it's also because I don't want people seeing my measurements and gaping.

On the flip side of this coin, I love salads. I love low fat foods like skinless chicken breasts. I don't like heavy sauces or dressings. I only like chocolate once a month. I can't stand pop that has sugar in it. Not because I'm on a diet but because that much sugar makes me feel nauseated.

Now before I lose all 5 of you, let me start cycling around to my point. I don't think I'm attractive physically. I can see that someone might find me attractive when you couple the cute-fat-chick look with the person that I am, but I don't think that if you put me in a room of women of various shapes and sizes that single men would be drawn to me based on looks alone. They'd go for barbie, or maybe her slightly heavier friend 'normal-healthy-weight-but-thinks-she's-fat' girl. But they wouldn't go for someone who was recently liked to Jabba the Hutt by a nasty teenage girl (Seriously). I love Beaker a little extra-specially because he was initially drawn in by my outgoing nature, but he thinks I am beautiful, and tells me so regularly. He finds me attractive, even my wobbly and horrifying parts. But I've always assumed he was a rarity and even more of a prize because of it.

And yet, this firefighter, who physically made my blood boil with lust? He wanted me based on my looks. And a lot of people have been telling me in the last few months that I'm 'amazing', 'gorgeous', 'stunning', 'beautiful'. And not just my female friends either.

So I blame Ben. Not for my fat ass. I blame my fat ass on genetics and my own lousy willpower. But I blame Ben for convincing me that I am not desirable.

Because apparently?

Everyone loves a fat woman, too.