It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. Life got interesting. I’m still living life fat, and dealing with the fallout of not hiding my fat body from the eyes of anybody.
Like today. I had the audacity to go out, into my own yard, and work on it. Oh, I guess I should back up a little bit. The hubby and I bought a house December of last year. When we looked at the yard, it was all brown and dead, so we had no idea what it would be like come spring. Well, spring sprung, and we had a beautiful green yard, with what looked like white morning glories and some sort of purple flower in the front yard.
Yeah, those “morning glories” weren’t. They are bindweed, an insidious weed that takes much effort to kill off, and will take over the whole state if not destroyed (much like kudzu for my southern readers). And the purple flowering plant is a variant of goats head weed. You know, goats head? The weed that makes those burrs that stick in EVERYTHING? Yeah, that and crab grass made up the front yard.
I’ve been killing the weeds as much as I can, going out, working in the yard, pulling out the weeds as far down with the rhizomes as I could. I seem to have gotten a handle on the goats head weeds. Wherever I’ve pulled them out, they’ve not come back. However, no matter how much poison we’ve put down (not the Round Up TM style poison, but other herbicides, both homemade and bought), the bindweed keeps coming up.
I’ve finally decided to use a shovel and dig. I’m lucky in that my yard is a combination of dirt and sand, and so makes digging as easy as digging can be. And I’m getting a ton of the rhizome from the bindweed up (hoping that when it’s gone, it’s going to be harder to repopulate).
The process requires me to bend over and pull out rhizome from the deep shovel full I’ve just taken out for each shovel, from both the dirt in the hole, and the dirt in the shovel. I am certainly getting a work out, let me tell you.
For the most part, people walking by have either ignored me, or made small talk about how it’s a difficult job I’m doing. Today, however, some teenagers were driving away from school. They saw me in the bent over stage of clearing rhizome.
They proceeded to cat call, “That’s right! Bend over, bitch!”
I didn’t even raise my head. I didn’t acknowledge them at all, and kept right on with my work. Because really? That’s all they had?
I’ve been fat all my adult life, and three quarters of my teenage life. I’ve had truly horrific experiences with people cat calling me (some of which I’ve documented before). I’ve been told to put a “wide load sign on [my] ass.” I’ve been called “fat ass” so many times I lost count at least 3 decades ago. I’ve been spit on. I’ve had people try to run me over. And my experience as a fat person in public is not unique, unfortunately.
But seriously, if you are going to cat call me, put some effort into it. Because “that’s right, bend over, bitch!” is laughable as a cat call. Seriously, if you want to show me how tough you are, driving past while screaming a mild insult is only going to get you ignored. Or maybe laughed at.
Since it’s the Olympic season, I will give you a score of 0.0. Only because, in Olympic style scoring, there are no negative scores.
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