I received a query to today’s omnipresent community amnesty meme from one of the most fascinating and talented women on my friends list — . In it, she makes mention of an earlier comment I had made elsewhere about how very relieved I was to have recently had breast reduction surgery — and that all I needed now was to “lose my fat gut.”

Miss Susan, in her endlessly charming and uniquely stream-of-consciousness sort of way, thoughtfully answered back. My response to her ran long, so I thought I would just post it here on the front page. I hope she doesn’t mind.

From :

Muffy, oh, Muffy, how you torment me. (Not on purpose, I know — just living your life.) This — and your overall eye-catching lj, full of piss and vinegar, spit and fire, salty kindness, fine writing and charm — totally makes me want to try to insinuate myself in your life so that I could properly get to know that fucking chubby gut and shower it with (superfluous, I bet! I bet there’s already plenty!) respectful, detailed and accurate praise (backed, if necessary, by data and political arguments), just for hope of the pleasure of hearing your all-out, nuanced, whole and human praise for it here, too. That, I know, would be wrong. And bodies do, they change, we change them, they keep changing, every honor for your right to make your choices, but I’m a hairy old campaigner with big tits and a belly (plus, you know, one of those little lady beards), and just couldn’t resist putting in a word here for the strange and interesting paths that cultivating actual tenderness for those particular swells and falls of fat and their interpretive dance in my life and culture.

Dang, maybe I should have resisted — I can take this comment down at any point, you do, you torment me, because I’m also totally taken with statements like, “i love my little boobies.” Who on earth could argue with that?

My response:

Gosh, your question seems to have taken the very longest for me to process, Miss Susan, and I am not really sure why — but I shall try my very best to explain myself.

First off, I have already long ago played through on the whole eating disorder game…and found it to be a terrible, horrible, awful, no-good way to lose weight — as well as a terrible, horrible, awful, no-good BORE. In fact, I don’t even consider eating disorders to be eating disorders anymore — they are just soooooooooooooooo fucking ubiquitous now that rather than being a way to medically or psychologically classify some abhorrent, marginalized way of eating or not eating…they are just pretty much how a vast majority of American women now regularly conduct themselves regarding food. And that, of course, is a tragedy.

On a personal note, I could give a fat motherfucking rat’s ass how I look compared to Gisele Bundchen…or Paris Hilton…or the dame sitting next to me on the red San Diego trolley. Did you catch that, sugar? I DON’T GIVE A SHIT IF I AM NOT AS THIN OR AS PRETTY OR AS HAIRLESS AS THAT SOUL-VACANT BALENCIAGA BAG-CARRYING CUM-GUZZLING COCK-HOLSTER PREENING ON THE COVER OF BRITISH VOGUE. I don’t care. Truly. I never, ever compare myself to other women — or even to other men, for that matter…either personally OR professionally. I got my own thing goin’ on, and regardless of how fat I may be at any given time, if someone doesn’t recognize who the fuck I am and what the fuck I bring to the table…FUCK ‘EM ALL — short, fat, and fuckin’ tall, baby. I got no use for the PSYCHICALLY BLIND. Let’s just say they bore me.

As for my reasons for wanting to lose weight, allow me to pull an MC Hammer and break-it-down now.

One word:

HEALTH.

Another word:

COMFORT.

Notice I did not invoke fashion or beauty on that list.

I don’t hate my body, or my fat, or even myself. What I hate is feeling polluted, ponderous, unwieldy, and unwell. I just wanna be healthy and aerodynamic. I wanna be able to eat Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream occasionally — without worrying that every bite is someday gonna cost me a gottdamned toe. Is that really asking so much?

Look, although I am sure that there are those who will vehemently disagree with me, being fat or not being fat is NOT a political or feminist decision for me — although I readily acknowledge that it may very well be for others. For whatever reason — chronic medical condition, troublesome medication, lack of consistent exercise, whatever — I have gained a considerable amount of weight over the past 3 or 4 years. I don’t like it. I am uncomfortable. I am in pain. I don’t feel well. My health is suffering because of it. I am now an early-stage diabetic. And guess what? According to the team of highly esteemed medical specialists that regularly attend me, THIS ALL GOES AWAY WHEN I LOSE THE FIFTY POUNDS I HAVE GAINED.

Gone. Poof. My suffering is vapor.

This, my darling Susan, is why I need to chuck the fat gut. Because I want to be around forever to enjoy all my grandbabies in that cozy beach house in Malibu. I simply don’t have the luxury of making hip, culturally correct choices just so that I can be down with the sistahs — I have children who depend on me for their very lives and well-being. I don’t want to die young. And if someone wants to somehow politicize the very personal choice that I have made regarding losing this weight, go right ahead. I don’t mind in the least.

But, know this — I categorically REFUSE to stay fat and sick to support ANYBODY’S political agenda…and to anybody who in any way suggests that I or any other woman should, I have a little message for you: Go fuck yourself.