Every five or six years, my mother guilts me into joining the extended family for a week-long vacation.
(NOTE: guilt is a horrible thing– made even more horrible-er-er when mixed with a pinch of stinginess, a strong dose of negativity, and one f*cking giant wallop of general mean-spiritedness)
BTW, just in case any of you are dying to know, my daughter is rude– and getting fat– and i’m “really starting to show my age” and should make an appointment with a dermatologist PRONTO.
(i feel pretty, oh so pretty… )
And, if any of you are thinking, ‘oh c’mon… it couldn’t have been all THAT bad,” I give you TRUE GRIT: an original breakfast story–
On our very last day together at the beach house, my mother got up early to make a huge pot of homestyle grits. Not only did she use the very last of my half-n-half (BITCH!) in her grits, but when she finished cooking, she proceeded to have the following conversation with my father and sister (while I’m sitting just two feet away on a kitchen stool– very much awake, and very much present in the room, after having said my round of good mornings):
MOM: “Daughter #1, would you like some grits?”
Daughter #1 [MY SISTER]: “Of course, I’ll get them…” [MOVING TO GET GRITS HERSELF]
MOM to Daughter #1: “Don’t move!… I have everything right here.” [proceeds to dish out and take piping hot bowl of grits to D #1]
MOM to my DAD: “May I bring you some?”
DAD [shaking his head at such a ridiculous question]: “Well, yeah!” [mom takes bowl to my dad]
IGNORES ME. PROCEEDS TO MAKE BOWL FOR HERSELF. SITS DOWN AT TABLE.
DAD [feeling bad that I'd been SO totally ignored]: “Contessa, didn’t you want some grits?”
Contessa: “Yes, I can get them for myself, thank you dad.” [proceeds to get grits for self]
And that pretty much sums up my week of vacation. Now, please excuse me while i go phone my doctor– the psychologist (NOT to be confused with the dermatologist).
Why, oh why, do the fatties I work with think it’s OKAY for them to make rude comments about MY WEIGHT– especially when I’m the only one with an acceptable BMI (??).
I mean, c’mon– enough already. If I were to turn the tables, and say what I thought about y’all’s weight, I’d probably get turned into HR for harassment.
Just because you’re stuffing your faces (for the third time today) with donuts and chex mix, and I politely decline the offer to indulge, doesn’t give you the right to make snide remarks regarding my eating habits. Honestly, how many times do I have to hear, ”Oh, that’s right, she already ate her one raisin for the day…” (followed by snort, snort, huff, guffaw, BURP).
And, to the fattiest-fatty of them all, do you really need to announce to the office staff that your hubby doesn’t find my “bony ass” the least bit attractive– and that he’d never want to f*ck me. Please, STOP! Trust me, I don’t f*cking want to KNOW that the two of you have even discussed this subject (let alone, hear you say it out LOUD in front of our collective co-workers).
Keep egging me on, and I’m gonna put on my fightin’ gloves…
Let’s see how funny you think it is when I ask y’all: “How do you f*ck a fat woman?” Answer: “Roll her in flour and look for the wet spot.”
(’cause, you know, that’s one of MY HUBBY’S favorite fat jokes… )
And, here’s somethin’ for those of us that prefer “bony ass… “
2 Comments | 
about me, family, humorous, life, random, relationships | Tagged: family, fat, vacation, true grit, a breakfast story, psychologist, dermatologist, ugly, wrinkles, old, rude, smart-ass, grits, half-n-half, mother, negative mother, bitch, negativity | 
Permalink
Posted by Contessa Confessa
