Is Fat Finally Where It's At?

I heard on the news the other day the results of a survey that I'm just not believing. I would like to believe it, but I don't. According to some survey, taken by someone, in some city, somewhere, the majority of Americans don't think fat people are any less attractive than more normal-sized people. I would love to believe that, but there's one big, big reason I don't believe it.
And, that's because I'm fat and I still hate looking at fat people. No matter how you slice it, fat is ugly. I'm sorry to have to say this to you, especially if you're fat, but facts is facts, and the fact is fat is not as attractive as normal-sized. I don't think I'm a fat bigot, but if I am, I'm a fat fat bigot.
I hate looking at myself. Don't get me wrong, i still think highly of myself. I wish I could have a friend like me, except that he not be so fat, of course. But when I get out of the shower, I'm hoping the steam stays on the mirror until I'm dressed.
Something else I don't like are those clinical terms for fat. You're either overweight, or obese, or, at the top of the fat scale, you're morbidly obese. That's not a nice thing to say to anyone. "Morbid" is such a foreboding word.
I have my own scale. You're either fat, or (next step up) you're gross, or (at the top of the fat scale), you're "Hey, is that a Big Mac caught in the folds of your flesh?" That sounds so much nicer.
I had to go to the doctor this morning. It was a routine thing, so don't start getting too upset. But, anyway, I was lying on that little table they put you on, with my shirt off, trying to suck in so as to fool the nurse into thinking I was normal. And, then she says, "Oh, I forgot. I need to get your weight."
"Can't you just take my word for it?" I asked her. But, no, she couldn't. So, I had to wallow around on that little tissue paper they spread across these little examining beds, trying to get myself up. By the time I'm up, the tissue is torn and crumpled. I hate that paper. It's like the doctor telling you, "Even though I'll have you as a patient, I still think you're too dirty to lie on my furniture."
Anyway, this nurse wants me to go across the hallway to the scale with no shirt or t-shirt on. No way. So, I have to get dressed in order to walk to the scale. Then I have to come back and take my shirt off and plop back down on the table. It's not fair, I tell you.
I'm sure somehow, in this whole process, she noticed I was about 50 pounds overweight. That sounds like a lot, but I like to think I carry it well. I just retain a lot of water...that and the big-boned thing, of course. And, no, I don't have any Big Macs caught in the folds of my flesh.
We were talking about fat in the office today, and Alaina, the office-Nazi (okay, she's really very nice, but she does write some nasty memos), said she had seen some report on TV about some 650-pound man. Now, that's ridiculous. It would seem to me that when you hit 500 pounds, you'd think to yourself, maybe I'd better do something. This is getting out of control. I feel confident that when I hit 500, I'm going to go on a strict fitness program. Unless, by that time, 500 is considered looking good.
I would like to believe that Americans are beginning to dig that overweight look. And, if you do, good for you. Maybe you could invite me over for a meal sometime. Unless, of course, you're fat too.