Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Open Mouth; Insert Foot

After grabbing breakfast on Sunday morning, Jonathan and I went for a lingering walk around the neighborhood. I hopped up onto his back to get a piggy-back ride and made horse whinny noises as he bounced me on his back. I wanted him to trot instead of just plod along, but he wouldn’t, even when I kicked in my heals and egged him on with, "tck,tck" sounds. He laughed that I was trying cue him like a real horse, but he still wouldn’t trot, "you aren’t nearly as petite as you look."

Grrrrrr. [For the record: 127 lbs; 35-28-35]

"Put me down," I demanded repeatedly to no avail as he chuckled and tightened his arms around my legs to keep me from squirming off his back. He then carefully walked directly in the middle of the sidewalk to prevent me from reaching the fences that I unsuccessfully tried to grab.

When he finally set me down he dug his hole a little deeper by saying that he was going to have to start training with sandbags so he can give me good, proper horsey rides and maintain my impression of him as a strong guy. ggggrrrrrrr.

He recognized the sparks in my eyes but wasn’t deterred from continuing the conversation. He tried to explain, "you’re not fat – and I didn’t say you were – I was just surprised at how heavy you feel compared to how small you are." Grrr. Grrrr. Grrrr.

His attempts to explain his comments were half-cute – the other half made me want to smack his confused face as he used words like "solid" "muscular" and "dense" to describe my body.

Yes, yes, yes – I know, I know, I know. I know that my weight and my clothing size don’t seem to match. I know that muscle weighs more than fat. I know that I carry around more muscle than most women and therefore seem surprisingly heavy. I know all of this.

But I also know that there is a well-known understanding that you don’t tell women they weigh a lot. No. No. No. We don’t like to hear it. Not one little bit. I was quite the fatso in high school and the suggestion that I am fat hits too close to home. Not Funny.

I biked with him back to his home in Hyde Park a short while later. We were in somewhat of a hurry, so I opted for the Bianchi instead of the dork bike. We kept the pace brisk, but comfortable, for most of the ride. There were several times when I shot past him, daring him to race, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to meet the challenge. I don’t know that he realized the connection between my riding and his earlier comment, but I am fully aware that I was being a brat because of his earlier comments. If he dares talk about how much my muscles weigh, he is damn well going to be made to feel the sting of trying to keep up with them.


At 7:23 PM, Blogger George said...

I'm laughing my ass off as I read your post.

My wife and I have been married for almost 25 years and while both of us have picked up a couple pounds.......

The Earth will split open and swallow me whole before I *ever* tell her she needs to lose weight.

She doesn't need to anyways, but if she did.....I wouldn't be the person that told her.

I'm sure your friend will learn his lesson in due time:-)

At 12:30 PM, Blogger jojo said...


You are a smart man.

Jonathan just can't grasp that his comments were anything but complimentary. -- That's what makes it so funny to me.

I'm not at all mad or anything, just befuddled and amused.

And he calls me dense!

At 4:00 PM, Blogger Nathan said...

Whenever I hear a woman's measurements I can't help but compare them to 42-39-56. Every other measurement sounds great in comparison! ;)

At 12:45 AM, Blogger Frick said...

silly, silly, girl.
Everyone knows muscle weighs more than fat.

The extremely fit girl I dated felt about 20lbs more than I expected just because she was so dense, despite hardly having an ounce of fat on her.


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