Sometimes Life Shits on You

I'm not usually a beacon of tact/taste/class, but I would definitely not rank myself as lacking therein. Yesterday, I overstepped the bounds of all such measure by making a conversational blunder which I fear will haunt me till I can rectify it with a particularly clever comeback or other conversational victory.

That said, my day went to hell in a hand-basket when I stopped at Baluchi's in the village to pick up dinner and was covertly slipped a card by the lady working the counter. It was a card for HerbaLife and the words, "I was 210lbs. once don't be ashamed. My boss would be angry with me if he knew I was talking to you, but just call me." Mind you, this was not a fit woman or a particularly thin woman--she weighed at best 10-15lbs. less than I do--which does not give her the right to point fingers at me. I was not as appalled to the level one would imagine.

I had to fight the urge to throw away my Kerala Crab Curry and scurry to the subway, but after one whiff of the contents of the package and a grab of a full handful of my belly fat, I held my head high and skipped to the Astor Place stop to ride the 6 home. The reflection of my profile in passing mirrors affirmed it--thin I am not, but fat is a term I'm not ready to ascribe, mainly because as long as my breasts far outreach my gut, I'm good with it--I'm doin' alright.

Helen can vouch for the fact that Indian people will do the most inappropriate things in he most public places and I don't just mean pick their noses and examine the contents--I mean they will say things to you that are so blatantly rude with a nonchalant, well-meaning smile. You can't get particularly angry--as Helen frequently did on my behalf as we traveled through the motherland--because they do it to everyone and truly they think they are helping. However misguided it gives credence to the idiom--"The road to hell is paved with good intentions." I think those Brits came up with that one after a trip to the Hind.

In the context of the day I was having--not to mention the current apathy in which I am drowning--one would think a comment like that would really bring me down but I realized my skin was thicker than that. I've survived a fair share of insults being hurtled at me--no matter how tame a sorority at Hopkins may have been, they are still girls en masse raging against the dying of the light!

Anyway, the moral of the story is that STICK AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT WORDS WILL NEVER HURT ME.

Alright so words can always hurt me...like the time I was in 8th grade and Norman shouted, "Your moustache is thicker than mine!"
Lexi, my enemy saw the tears prcik my cheek, so he piped in with, "Dude, don't you think that's worse for you than her?"