anne jackson recently posted a bunch of statistics about how fat american pastors are (http://www.flowerdust.net/2008/07/09/pastor-stats-overweight-unhealthy/). no offense, anne, but i’ll bet you’re thin, right? i promise i’m not hurt…i own a mirror…i know i’m fat. but give me a break. i’m not allowed to smoke or drink (in public, anyway). i was thinking about taking up gambling until pete messed all that up. can you cut me a little slack if i hit the chinese buffet from time to time? if i don’t super-size, how do you expect me to keep my super-size? besides, all the pastors i had growing up were fat guys. the connection between obesity and spirituality in burned into my subconscious.
no fat guys in uganda, right?
look, i know i need to get in shape and i’m really working at it. i am regularly confronted with ugly examples of what happens when fat people get old. this morning, for example, i was at sam’s club. i headed down the office supplies aisle to pick up a case of copy paper. i could not pass, though, because there was not one, but two fat people on those little motorized carts–one man and one woman. each had their mates and, from their lofty perch atop their mobile thrones, they would point to an item that caught their eye. the long-suffering spouse would bring the item to mr/ms hippo to be inspected carefully, and then the portly prince and princess would either hand the item back to their partner to be replaced on the shelf, or they would place it in the basket on the front of their scooter. keep in mind, this whole time i’m standing there trying to decide whether to clear my throat or reverse field and go all the way around. i’m thinking to myself, “don’t they feel even slightly conspicuous? do they think they look cool on those things? or that they are somehow privileged? is there absolutely no shame?”
bet they don’t have those motorized carts in uganda.
in retrospect, though, i think i tend to be patient with fat, old people on their little carts because i realize i am a ligament failure away from a handicap sticker of my own. i’ve been abusing my joints my whole life, but i refuse to resort to riding around sam’s club on one of those carts. i’m not going to use a walker, either. you know what i mean, an aluminum frame with wheels on the back legs and tennis balls on the front legs. you can always tell when someone is using a walker by the sound they make: “screeeeee…shuffle-shuffle…screeeeee…shuffle-shuffle.” i know i’ve got a pride problem, but i’m just not going to go to the store if i can’t walk around like a normal person–like anne jackson. i don’t want to be a statistic so i suppose i’ll get my fat butt in gear and get in shape.
or i could move to uganda.