BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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When is a Donut Not a Donut?

Driving down the street of my hometown I point out the donut shop where my longtime friend works. My mother replies, “I don’t eat donuts.” I call bullshit. Just the other morning there was a receipt on the kitchen table for a cup of coffee and a glazed donut. Mother says it didn’t happen. “It’s on the receipt” I persist.

“Oh, that wasn’t a donut. It had a hole in it. It was a pastry. Donuts have a filling.”

What? Is she serious? It had a hole so it isn’t a donut, even though the receipt clearly states, “glazed donut?” I’m mystified.

krispykreme_this“Why isn’t it a donut?” I ask seeking clarification.

“Because I don’t eat donuts. I couldn’t,” she replies.

I bite, “why not?”

Then, the answer that I never expected to hear from the mouth of a person who is well into her seventh decade (but don’t tell her I told you that), “because if I ate a donut, I would hate myself.”

I was floored. Really? Truly? Your self worth is so tied to what passes your lips that you are willing to rename food you eat just so that your psyche doesn’t figure out what you’ve done and beat you up for it? And your psyche is so out of touch with reality that it’s okay with this arrangement? Wow.

I guess the lesson here is that a donut is not a donut when your self worth is tied to your food intake and you eat something that will cause you to “hate” yourself. What a sad state of affairs. I would rather love my fat self and enjoy a donut, whether it has a hole or not.


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Daily Prompt: Fright Night

Do you like being scared by books, films, and surprises? Describe the sensation of being scared, and why you love it — or don’t.

I detest being scared. I startle easily, and scary movies are torture to me. The feeling of fear is awful and I don’t understand why so many people seem to enjoy it so much. Fear sucks. Fear eats away at your spirit and leaves you edgy and depleted. It steals your joy and gnaws at your spirit. Fear by choice? No thank you.

gas_mask_by_Pie89Maybe it all stems back to the gas mask incident, I don’t know. One afternoon when I was two years old I was in my room having a nap. I assume I was resting peacefully when suddenly I was awoken by the most horrifying sight I had ever seen. I screamed in horror and scrambled over the rail of the crib, absolutely terrified. How was I to know that it was only my seven year old brother wearing a gas mask? Who does that? And who has a gas mask in their house? According to my mother, my father was a visionary. I wonder if he ever envisioned his daughter scarred for life by his naughty little son.

As if that incident weren’t bad enough, maybe The Poseidon Adventure sealed the deal. I guess my mom was feeling weak. My brother had been working on her for some time, begging to see this movie. Maybe she reasoned that since The Carpenters were in it, the movie couldn’t be THAT bad. Whatever her reasoning, she decided to take us to see it. We went to a matinee with only a few other people in the theater. Turns out that was a good thing. Apparently a six year old me wasn’t quite ready for disaster at sea. I still have nightmares about drowning and fire. No, Captain Scott, DON’T LET GO!!!!!

I was kind of a scared kid. I used to profile people in the line at the bank so I could describe them to the police after they held the place up. I would look around in restaurants, trying to figure out where I would hide when the crazed gunmen would showed up. I even had a plan in place for the off chance that a Nazi patrol would come to my house in the night to round us up, like they did to our relatives in Germany years before.

No thank you, I don’t choose to be afraid. I think there are enough scary things in the real world without adding in the likes of Freddy Krueger and Michael Meyers. I will not be joining you at the haunted corn maze or riding the triple corkscrew roller coaster. Jumping out of an airplane or bungee jumping off a bridge are not for me, and the idea of participating in any type of war games sends me scrambling in the other direction, especially if there are gas masks involved. Call me a chicken or a scaredy cat or whatever you want, but keep the scary stuff away from me, please.


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Daily Passion Prompt 27: Living Off My Hobby

If you trusted that you could live off your favorite hobby, what would it be?

write

If I could be guaranteed to make a living from my favorite hobby, I would be one happy camper! I would write to my heart’s content, blathering on about this topic or that. I would explore various themes and compose poetry and children’s books.

I would examine my diverse interests and expand my knowledge of them, then I would write about what I’ve learned. In fact, I already do these things, but certainly not to the extent that I would like, after all, a full time career is fairly time consuming.

I imagine working on a collection of short stories, possibly doing some memoir writing, and of course developing at least one beloved (and incidentally extremely marketable) children’s book character. Marmalade the Marmot, anyone? No? Sherice the shrew?  Or perhaps Ibsen the Ibis? There must be a story (or better yet, a series of stories), for these wonderful potential characters, although I’ve been told to avoid alliterative names. I guess Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and Elmer the Elephant got lucky.

Long story short I would write, write, write. In fact, this writing thing really has become much more than a hobby. It’s a passion that is beginning to take on a life of its own, and I’m loving every minute of the ride it’s taking me on.