Shirking From the Camera -Fat and Fab?

Yes, that's me.  Ten years or more ago.  And that wasn't my biggest. . .zuchinni.  In fact I can't even find pictures because I shirked from the camera. 

My story is every desperate obese story.  Except in one way.  Psychologist. 

I never expected it when I sat at the table in the restaurant with the other four couples.  It was a lovely restaurant and we had waited a month for the outing.  I wore a wonderful black wrap sweater and palazzo pants and did my hair for the occasion.  My husband rented a room at a hotel nearby for a little romance and he tucked away a bottle of Processco, two candles and a little trinket to inspire us later that night. I packed a beautiful nightie I spent way too much on.

There we were and I was staring at the menu doing what I usually did at restaurants; trying to figure out if there would be a big or small portions. Usually the more expensive, the less on the plate.  But this was an expensive streak-house which is an oxymoron of sorts so I didn’t know what to expect.  So to cover all bases I ordered an appetizer too.

The conversation grew lively.  The wine flowed, the  plates were delivered, and I was conscious to not look too eager for the food.  My inner self wanted to devour the potato skins with caramelized onion sand Swiss cheese but I clamed myself.  I knew they would notice. 

One of the guests asked me about my experiences working for the 9/11 families in New York.  All the ears turned to hear me; the tragedy was fresh and being a therapist at ground zero,I was close to the pulse of the situation.  So I spoke and told them what I was doing in the city and about the families I had come to know and of course, their grief.  I never recalled what I said exactly because it’s what she said that I remembered the most.  In fact, ten years later everyone still remembers.  Her name was Shira, she was a writer—and a drinker.  I choose to think her tongue might have been loosened by the wine.  She tapped the wine glass with her fork to get all our attention.  

 "You know,” she opened, “I wonder what people think about taking advice from someone who can’t control their own impulses—like their eating.”

You could have heard the food circling in our intestines—no one breathed.  I had summoned her disgust.  While that fat lady was swirling towards the mat, she noticed that no one defended me.  Whatever was left of my form sat silenced, deeply reduced to nothing but the pool of emotions that could not be identified at once; embarrassment, humiliation, shame, hurt—they were all there.

Making everyone so uncomfortable at that table at a pricy dinner was not taken lightly by anyone but I was sure a few of them thought I had brought it upon myself.  One of the women at the table later sent her an Email, accidently cc'd to me.  "Shira was wrong, but Dawn is really enormous. "

After the dinner, but before desert we went to the hotel.  Relief overtook me and I cried like a baby, filling the nightie with tears and snot while wearing the pretty gold heart my husband clasped around my neck.  The only love making that night were his tender words of encouragement and faith.  If I could have cut that Ms. Supersize out of me that night I would have.  I was sick and tired of feeding her and giving her strength.  I realized, at that moment, even though she tried to tell I wasn't her, I really was.  She defined me, defied me and lied to me.

One week later I would find myself in the office of a surgeon, an appointment Shira made me determined to keep.  Five years later, size 6, looking fantastic, I ran into Shira. I thanked her—profusely—for saving my life.  She stood there not even recalling who I was.  I was so insignificant to her, the moment she humiliated me, that she had no recollection of the event.