The Ladies who Lunch

Because I decided to pursue the glamour profession that is public school teaching, I'm privy to a number of marvelous benefits that the rest of you peasants don't have. Among the highlights are:

1)Exposure to a wide variety of 19th century illnesses, and to all of the current ones, also.

2)Endless supplies of sparkly barrettes and Littlest Petshop figurines that I claim as contraband and hoarde jealously in my desk as if somehow, the plastic camel sitting next to my White-Out will ensure my survival and procreation of a new line of humans come the Great Day of Judgement.

3)Dry erase marker stains on my pants

4)25 minute lunches.

Since my classroom is located in the hinterlands of the school building, my 25 minute lunches are usually reduced to 15 minute lunches by the time I kick the last kid out of my classroom and racewalk to the teachers' lounge. You would think that because of our limited time to consume food, there would be very little talking and a lot of determined cud-chewing, but no...shit goes down there, folks. I don't lie.

I happen to have a lunch shift with a group of teachers my very favorite person in the world has aptly named The Wisterians. He chose this moniker not because they investigate horrific crimes in their idyllic neighborhood while managing to engage in ridiculous and often hilarious sexual and romantic hijinks themselves, but mostly because they shop at Talbots and really, really enjoy passing judgement on the world at large and especially on the teachers who aren't there to defend themselves. These are the women who sigh longingly about the day their husbands will allow them to quit teaching and become full-time Pilates instructors, and who hover over their yogurt cups and Diet Coke cans while the rest of us flabby, pathetic mortals try to hide the fact that we've actually brought food made of bread. Or meat. Or anything but Splenda.

Isn't it funny how hard a thoughtless comment can slap you down when you least expect it? I got a double whammy from the Wisterians today, and both comments happened within five minutes of the other, and I didn't even get that I was being judged until like four hours later when I was at home and I was unloading the dishwasher and thinking about it and suddenly exclaimed "Bitches!" as I was reaching up to put away a glass and my cats both looked at me and cocked an eyebrow and I think if the big one could've said "Language, please" he would've.

Wisterian Uno is a mother of one, makes sure we all know she weighs 105 pounds, and recently told us she was happy she got impregnated again because it gives her 9 months of absolution from being five pounds overweight and so an abomination in her husband's eyes. Rumor has it she spends two hours a day on the treadmill and does butt clenches while she grades papers at her desk. Apparently during her pregnancies she becomes diabetic, so as she was tearing into a rather humongous piece of "farewell to sugar" Reese's Pie (Teacher Appreciation Week...TOLD YOU we got perks) she leaned over to me and asked if I had any low-carb, low-sugar cookbooks I could loan her. I was happy to oblige and after she thanked me she said, "I knew I could ask you because you're always eating so healthfully." Then she looked me up and down and half-laughed with a, "Well, at least you TALK about being healthy." And I, being slow of wit, smiled like a moron and walked out of the room and mentally sorted through my diet cookbooks for one to bring back to her.

Wisterian Dos is like the Queen Mother of the Wisterian set and is notorious for her unadulterated, poison-dripping lack of tact and the backhanded compliments she bestows to everyone in her path. The favorite I've heard so far was a comment she made to a different pregnant teacher in our building when she said, "I bet it's great that you're a bigger woman, because when you start to show you won't have to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe!" I usually try to avoid eye contact with her, but today I ended up at her table and while I was trying to eat without actually look like I was, you know, ingesting calories I felt her gaze on me and I looked up to see her considering my face thoughtfully.

"You know," her pinched, upper middle-class voice broke through the din of the lounge as everyone looked her way, "You remind me SO MUCH of that Sukie St. James on Gilmore Girls" I hadn't seen enough Gilmore Girls to know who Sukie was, so I strutted around school all day beaming because I thought she meant I was the witty and musically talented Asian one who's Rory's best friend in Star's Hollow. Or maybe, like, her brilliant and determined roommate who's dating that adorable George O'Malley-esque boy. But no...I reminded her SO MUCH of the either ginormously pregnant or morbidly obese chef who laughs a lot and is clumsy and waddles when she walks.

And suddenly I got it all over again. Being fat isn't just my business...it's apparently everyone's concern, and the fact that I'm not losing weight means I'm not only disappointing myself, but everyone else, too. But WHY is it okay? It's not like I walk around and remark on someone's emerging crow's feet or nasty dark roots...why is it that obesity is a matter of public record? For the most part, at least before it starts to become victorious, it's a difficult, painful, sometimes humiliating process...why does it need to be discussed and pointed out and remarked upon by the people who haven't been through it at all?

God, being fat sucks. Why couldn't I just have halitosis or a wicked case of scabes instead?