Fat Chance

*3 years later*

I walked through Walmart, my head down. People were everywhere, including kids from school, and I didn't want them to see me shopping for clothes.

10 minutes had already passed when finally, after awkwardly weaving through crowds of crabby people, I reached the Women's Clothing section of Walmart. I breathed a sigh of relief, because basically nobody was in, what I like to call, the Morbidly Obese aisle.

I quickly searched the shelves for a pair of baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt big enough to cover the massive muffin top those pants would cause. As usual, the biggest size I could find was a supposed 3XL, which looked like a medium at the most.

I sighed, remembering why I hadn't been to Walmart in a while. After looking over the racks of ugly fat people's clothes, I decided to leave.

Making my way to the front entrance, I fought back tears. It had been years since I could fit into anything under a 5XL, a size not many stores carried nor made fashionable clothes in. I hadn't ever been one for fashion, I don't think I would have been even if I were a normal size, but I at least liked to look nice.

And currently, I dressed ( and even looked) like a fat 50 year old divorced woman who had 15 cats, volunteered at the local library every Monday and Saturday, and barely left her crappy rundown apartment because she could hardly walk 2 blocks.

Anyways..

I was almost to the front of the store when I spotted a huge bin of cheap rubber flip flops. Even though my feet looked horrid, I figured I could salvage enough money at some point to get myself a pedicure.

I walked over to the bin and started to look through it, searching for a pair of turquoise flip flops in my size. Not finding any, I started to leave. As I was turning to leave, a woman about 60 years old pushing an autistic teenage girl in a wheelchair, nearly bumped into me. The woman was talking on the phone with somebody so it took her a few seconds to realize what had almost happened.

Meanwhile, who I assumed to be her granddaughter, looked up at me and instantly started laughing. Her laughs were loud and sharp, like a gooses honk. The girl managed to belt out the words "fat-tee" while trying to catch her breath after each laugh. That got the woman's attention.

Lowering the phone from her ear, she cried out "Samantha! How rude!" The woman turned towards me and quickly apologized, but she immediately went back to her phone call. Her mothers scoldings must not have mattered to Samantha, because she turned towards me and started to laugh again. Gaining control on my weak muscles, I ran away.

Fighting back tears for the fourth time that day, I tried to figure out why I was so upset. I was no stranger to being pointed and laughed at, but I had never been laughed at by an autistic girl before now.

Honestly, I'm pretty sure that's the main reason why I stay away from mentally disabled people and little kids: they always tell you exactly what's on their minds, no filter. If you ask them if you look fat that day, they'll answer honestly. And I both loved and hated honestly.

On one hand, I hated when people told me that I wasn't fat, because I knew that was a straight up lie. If 440 lbs wasn't fat, I didn't know what was. But on the other hand, I hated being ridiculed for my size, even though I always seemed to laugh it off. "Great", I thought to myself. "I'm depressed, fat, retarded and now a hypocrite. Just what I need."