If you’ve read my “About Me” section you should know that I live in New York City, but if you didn’t have a chance to read it or this is your first time here, you know now. I live in a very boring, quiet, and residential area of Brooklyn. I always make the assertion that the most exciting thing about my neighborhood is the train station and I mean it.
I can travel throughout most boroughs within the city on $2.75. I consider that to be a semi steal yet low-key highway robbery considering how much subway fares have increased throughout the years. And raising the price of subway fare as opposed to lowering it never has any wiggle room.
Being fat and introverted truly sucks, it doesn’t do me any favors. It’s expected of me to acquire many of the stereotypical fat people personality traits, and when I fail to check off those tiny individual boxes, the disappointment on people’s faces begin to visibly emerge. But that’s just the price I have to pay for living in an extrovert world and having the flesh on my stomach resemble steel armor. No, I am not from medieval times. And yes, that was a joke.
The fat girl trope has to die and remain dead. It’s overused, abused, and highly flawed.
You didn’t read the title incorrectly. Fat girls actually have lives. It’s true and we do. We’re living and breathing organisms that are productive, set out to do shit and get shit done. We don’t spend 10 hours a day looking into a well made IKEA mirror, trying to forcibly cut off the fat on our stomachs with a rusted silver knife. We have fucking lives.