My parents didn’t have to give me a name. I was known as the Fat Girl.
This was decades before kids were supersized. Long years ago when there was one, at the most two Fat Kids in an entire school.
This is way back when being Fat was as close to freak as anyone wanted to get.
In those days, one tried to offset the physical handicap by having a great personality.
I tried to be kind and helpful, tried to be happy.
The final straw came in Junior High. The boy I was insanely in love with was, unknown to him, standing behind me as I sat and sewed a costume for the school play.
One of his friends was trying to convince him to go to some fete and he responded;
“I’d as soon go to Martin’s party as I would date the Fat Girl.”
One of his friends gave him a nudge, said something like; “You mean the waitress by the canteen?”
As there was a mirror in eye reach I saw the nudges, the head turns, the cover up….
As I couldn’t bear to hear the backtrack lie I jumped up with this beaming smile as if I hadn’t heard, and said;
“Good as new!” handing the costume to its owner then reporting to the bathroom where I could cry my guts out.