Ah, the holidays… when most men and women’s thoughts turn to love and family, and mine turn to baked goods, increasing the tire around my middle, and studiously wasting my membership to the NYSC (I’ve only been twice since I signed up in June!). Why, yes, Virginia, I am a size 12, though the Gap and Old Navy insisting on bullshitting me about being an 8. Please. I haven’t been an 8 since I was 8. And in Ohio or Kentucky or wherever else, a 12 isn’t so bad. In Manhattan, where the gym culture is probably only outweighed by the bar culture (actually, that’s a toss-up), a 12 is practically obese!
So, yes, this means that as we approach the Danger Zone of the holiday season, I am a single woman with a fat ass. I am a single, Hindu woman with a fat ass… so I don’t even really have Hanukkah or Christmas to look forward to. (My family fakes the latter, but not the former. Hmm. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if we tried?) And, really, I’m never going to that gym. I think we all know that. I have no idea why I’m donating money every month to their oh-so-depressing establishment in the hopes that I may one day go. Lord knows, it’s not going to solve my singlehood issues either, since NYSC is apparently (per Missed Connections on Craigslist) where guys go to hook up in the showers. I suppose I could pop in and encourage them in their endeavors. LOL. Hey, at least somebody’s getting some lovin’, right? More power to ’em.
For me, it’s just all too exhausting. Waking up in the morning to get to work and pull a 9 hour day is plenty for me. Balancing attempts to find love in the maelstrom that is the New York City dating scene and trying to trim down to a REAL single digit jeans size along with just getting through a normal work week…? Too much work. Too much effort. I’ve pretty much accepted that, at this point, finding a guy in this city just ain’t in the cards. I’d rather sleep. I’d rather eat. I’d rather catch a movie or two. I have so much rather that Dan Rather would boggle. If you asked me, “Mala, would you rather have a fantastically hot guy or a bowl of sticky toffee pudding?” I’d pick the pudding. Especially if there’s custard involved.
Hmm. Maybe this explains the whole single woman-fat ass thing. Alas, it’s a vicious cycle!