Apples and Oranges

Adri, Greg, Kim, and I traversed the dangerous treaches of the southeast Northeast quadrant to take in some Bulldogs. Wasabi tater tots (that I had to almost spit out), Kastel Rouge (thank you Ricardo), and a well timed "I think I should go" (you had to be there).

As the night raged on, Greg went home . . . little too burnt out . . . and the three of us walked over to Mayslack's, a neighborhood bar in a neighborhood of neighborhood bars. Along the way, we discussed the intricacies of honesty vs. white lies in the face of telling someone they are fat.

Interesting point: how the fuck can you get mad at someone calling you fat? I know I'm not fat, but I used to be . . . slightly. I did hear some griping about my +20 lbs. But it never made me mad. It made me think "Whelp, yeah, I'm fatter. Out of shape. Either I do something about it or learn to accept it."

So when someone asks the age old inquiry "Does this make me look fat?" why do they get so angry at the response? Either they're not fat enough, too skinny, just right but they wanna be fat . . . I don't get this. You know your body. You look at it in the mirror every day. You know if you're fat or skinny. If you find out you're something not up to par with your ideal self-image, you convince yourself haphazardly that you are your ideal self-image.

When you ask someone else to back you up they don't agree. You get angry that you failed at convincing yourself you're not up to code.

It's like having an apple but wishing it was an orange. You get an orange marker and color it orange, add different textures. You ask someone "Does this apple look like an orange?" They say "No, it looks like an apple." You get angry.

Is it that different?

And to answer your question, yes, I am called an asshole more often than I'd like to be called.

Little Boots -- "New in Town"