Lesson Seven.

“It’s about what you put in here (points to mouth)...”

I’ve gained some weight. 

Last year, due to Crossfit + workout classes at National Stadium I was smoking hot.  But as a result of deciding I’m pretty much over lifting caribou-sized weights and stair running, but not over drinking copious amounts of wine, I put on 15, some days 20 lbs, since then.

It’s been a bit of a bummer, mainly because I want to wear my clothes, and you know, heart disease, so I’m looking forward to losing the weight, but am not quite sure how it’s going to happen.  I’m generally pretty active – I have a famous pedal bike named Shoshanna, do yoga, and walk lots.  Unfortunately, I haven’t seen a change in my eating habits or liquor intake, and clearly the intensity of activity is not burning off any calories. 

About 2 months ago, a lady who works in the Towne felt compelled to tell me she was very worried with how fat I was getting and specifically that my butt and thighs were out of control.  Her advice was to remember that ‘it’s about what you put in here (points to mouth)’.  One particularly explicit response came to mind (tee hee), but I just laughed off my shock and embarrassment, and told her I know.  She went on and on… and I just stood there saying, ‘yes, you are right, mm-hmm’.

When I told the story to others, they were stunned.  Do you know this lady? She has some nerve!   Why didn’t you tell her to mind her business? 

I didn’t have an answer. Why DIDN’T I say something?  What would I have said? Is it okay for someone to walk up to you, someone who you have not so much as ever had a cup of coffee with, and for her to tell you that you’re fat?

Sadly for both of us, my weight loss is not happening fast enough.  Today, she commented on me wearing a dress.  In hindsight, I realise she’d thought it odd that I was unashamedly showing my ginormous beastly thighs – but I wasn’t thinking on that level and just started making friendly conversation, responding that I tend to only wear dresses, but am looking to buy more pants because of my bike.  (Sidebar: What a boring comment!  Why am I jabbering on about pants?)

She says, “Don’t buy any just yet.  You’re going to start losing weight soon. Wait til you lose the weight to go shopping…”

I froze mid-blink so I could rewind what she said and see if I’d heard correctly.  I’m sorry… what? Not only am I fat, but I’m also forbidden from shopping?  And AGAIN… AGAIN I said nothing!  Just did a ‘heh heh’ forced chuckle and walked away. 

I will stand up for any cause that I feel passionately about.  I chase down litterers and speak up for people who I feel are being mistreated.  My friends routinely sigh because I am always gently nudging (my term) slash lecturing (their term) them about being kind to the planet.  My first blog post highlighted a situation where I’d been insensitive, and granted, I went about it the wrong way, but even in that case, I’d been standing up for something I believe in. 

But earlier this year, a man stood outside my office while I worked late, and pulled out his penis.  Rather than screaming, making a fuss, taking a picture - anything that would be about protecting myself - my immediate thought was about protecting the town. I pretended I didn't see him, so the police would have time to arrive and catch him.  They didn't.  And instead I ended up scared and devastated.

Maybe I didn’t react to the 'fat' comments because it wasn't that big a deal, or maybe, even when something is a big deal, I'm not used to standing up for myself.

Lesson Six.

“Why do I keep saying you’re my best friend?  Maybe I’ve just known you the longest.”

Somebody egged my car.

I swerved into the other lane, then quickly righted (or I guess ‘lefted’) myself.   I thought I hit something, then figured it was random falling debris but nope, there it was - the telltale streaks of a definite egg attack.

If the culprits had been watching me, they may have been quite pleased with the reaction that followed.  But little did those little bastards know that I’d already been quietly sobbing on this 1am drive home, and the egging just put me over the edge to a super melodramatic howling, runny-nosed bout of full on banshee screaming.  

I have a group of friends, ‘The GNs’, which stands for ‘Girls Night’ – a fun meetup we started having about 10 years ago.  The night rotates between our homes, and even though our ambitious goal of monthly ‘pot luck game nights’ soon petered to quarterly ‘bring your own food and nobody likes Pictionary but you’, we have continued through all that could happen in a decade within a group of 6 women – weddings, babies, parent drama, children drama, friendship drama, illness, financial woes, new homes, new jobs, breakups, talks about divorce, actual divorce…

Our group charted would be a Venn diagram of duos and trios and cousins and neighbours that knew this person and that person and ‘we’ve been friends since we were four’.  A friendship fallout that had us lose one person along the way revealed a never-spoken realisation that you need to have at least two close friends in the group in order to have a real place.

And so the seven of us gather, sometimes spontaneously, but most often, as was the case in the evening of the egging, after carefully choosing a night when most of us are available and someone is willing to host a raucous booze-filled night.   We chatted about our jobs and Beyonce’s concert outfits, talking at the same time, yelling around each other, laughing and dutty-wining and reminiscing.

Then one comment, possibly careless but not malicious, from one friend to another, led to an avalanche of shouting, tears, unresolved hurts, accusations, defensive reactions, misunderstandings and the abrupt and premature ending of our night.  “Girl’s night is over.  Please leave.”

I was asked to stay behind, and did so thinking I’d be providing a shoulder and ear, but instead took a winding, signpost-free path (how did I get here?) that ended with me defending myself against rehashings of an issue from last year, one I'd thought she'd moved on from but clearly she had not. This situation had triggered still-raw memories of another 

After an hour of this, I'm irritated and thinking of the long drive ahead of me.  I'd explained, apologised, and I wanted it to be over. Frustrated, I suggested that maybe we aren’t all as close as we once were. Thus why I didn’t understand what was going on with her, when a ‘real friend’ would have.   Why we don’t really hang out that often outside of our GN events.  Why I have other friends I see more often.  Why some in the group don’t share what’s going on in their lives.  Why we don’t have as much in common anymore.

But that was a crutch. 

It was in the same category of, “Well I was going through my own shit at the time too you know… “ and “I’m really busy… “ All excuses I tossed out during this confrontation with my own shortcomings and as a way to avoid the cognitive dissonance – the difference between how I’d treated my friend, and the person I think I am.  

I hosed the egg off my car, tears streaming down my face… then crawled into bed and cried a bit more.   Cried thinking of how many nights my sister-friends and I had spent together.   Of how much this group has shaped me, supported me, taught me.  

Friendship is a precious thing.  And even though it might not look the same, ever again, I was wrong to suggest that it wasn’t still beautiful.