You and your friends were hanging round outside the ladies toilets – I don’t know why, it’s not exactly the nicest part of the club to hang out in. You all looked at me as I walked out, headed back to my group on the dance floor. I don’t know what was going through your mind but I didn’t look your way – cautious that some guys take a casual look as a sign you want to sleep with them and bug you the rest of the night. Cautious that sometimes a ‘wrong look’ can mean being followed home, or a trip to A&E. So I didn’t even look your way. Then as I was just about to head through the door I heard it – you called me fat. Not even a casual comment to your friends – you spoke straight to me and called me fat.
Why? Was it because I hadn’t looked at you and you were insulted? Is it because I’m not stick thin like a lot of the girls in the club? Or were you just a dick who has nothing better to say?
What you didn’t know is that I’d spent almost an hour before leaving the house trying to find something I thought I looked okay in. You didn’t know that I’d kicked my boyfriend out the room because I was struggling (and failed) not to cry. You didn’t know that I’d picked a clutch bag big enough to hide my stomach. Or that I’d walked in to a bathroom full of gorgeous, tiny girls just before and had almost cried in the toilets.
You didn’t know that I’ve been worrying about going on holiday because I’ll have to wear shorts and my legs wobble. Or that I worry that I’ll get cheated on because everyone else I see is thinner and prettier, especially his female friends. You didn’t know all this and I wonder what would have changed if you had?
I’m a big believer in being nice to people – the only thing I wanted to say to the skinny girls in the club is how nice their dresses were. You don’t gain anything from being horrible to people. I know that I haven’t been to the gym as much as normal. I know that my legs could do with some toning. I know I’ve always struggled with my arms, no matter how much exercise. But I also know that it’s none of your damn business.
Last time we went to this club someone called me a slag, but it didn’t bother me because I knew it wasn’t true. This time it hurt. Why does anyone think it’s okay to go round insulting people they haven’t even spoken to?
I don’t know who you are to tell you straight to your face but listen to me when I say I don’t care what you think. The opinion of one dickhead who saw me for less than 10 seconds doesn’t bother me. Instead I’ll listen to my boyfriend who said I was beautiful, even when ugly crying on him. I’ll listen to my family and especially my sister who looks up to me. I’ll listen to the stranger on the street who stopped to say that I have lovely eyes and my boyfriends friends who said I was pretty. This post is all about looks but we’re all so much more than what’s on the outside. I’m content with who I am and I’ll be more than happy being the bigger person.
Love Roxy xx