Strangers Who Share Too Much: Episode 3

Another one out of the women’s bathroom at work… what is it about communal ladies’ rooms that emaciates the fabric of prudent self-consciousness?

So the other day, after just changing into my gym clothes, I looked over and noticed one of the café employees eyeing me with marked curiosity. After a few awkward beats, she piped up to ask me very bluntly how much I weigh. Now, it is true that most people traditionally react with certain astonishment at how high the number of pounds I’m packing away really is (in the unlikely event that such top-secret info is leaked to the public at all- Karl Rove, I'm looking at you, ass-face). It’s not so much that I look all that tiny, but the scale does tell a far gloomier tale than is apparent to the casual on-looker.

Aside: I prefer to imagine that this phenomenon is all due to the massive weight of my gi-normous brain but, in reality, its probably more from the weight of my gi-normous boobs; I’d love to think it’s both, but does God really give with both hands?

So anyway, she must have been pretty gobsmacked by my answer, because her reaction was to take off her pants in order to show me how "lotsa folks think I’ma lot fatter cuzza mah baggy pants, but really I’ma size faahv". I can’t exactly remember what casual pleasantry I stammered in response, probably because I was now pretty gobsmacked by this total stranger’s pants being down around her ankles, out of no where.

Whatever I said, the look of bemused alarm on my face must’ve registered, because she pulled her britches back up and explained herself thusly: "I’s just curious ‘cause I been thinkin’ ‘bout goin’ on into tha gym ta walk on that thingy and firm on up and you’re lookin’ pretty fit- I ain’t tryin’ to be weird or nothin’."

Nooo, why on earth would that be weird?