A Fat Girl and the Heat

It ain't easy being chubby when it's warm outside.

Here's my confession: I hate hot weather. There you go. Strip me of my midwestern citizenship. In this land of snow and gray skies, during these three or so months of endless sun, dripping wet air and (here is where I'll go ahead and use my least favorite word) MOIST everything, to claim your dislike of hot weather is comparable to a Catholic dissing the Pope. But here I stand, sweat beading on my upper lip, saying that I hate it.

I used to think that my dislike of the steamy months in this state was a byproduct of my girth. "If only I was skinny, then it would tolerable", I'd say to myself while standing in front of the open freezer. I used to think it was due to the fact that my childhood home didn't have central air until I was 19 years old. I remember hot nights in August, silently weeping into my pillow because said pillow had no "cold side". Cursing my mom for not understanding that I needed air conditioning. The futility of trying to get ready for nights out on the town. Having that classic George Costanza experience of "my shower didn't take". Trying to put make up on a glistening face. Hair that desperately wanted to frizz and curl when all I wanted it to do was pouf up smoothly.

Then, I had a summer, a few years ago, when I was skinny. I wore a two piece bathing suit without a skirt, and SHORTS. Yes, I wore shorts. Granted, they were khaki cargo shorts from the Gap circa 1997, but they were shorts. I wore tissue weight tees and didn't obsessively suck in my gut all the live long day. I wore little knit camis with shelf-bras while doing yardwork and didn't have to worry about moving my arm too fast and sending a kid flying out into the street with one of my flapping bingo-wings.

By this time, too, I was a GROWN UP. And I had complete control over the a/c. The frugal banshee in my head screamed at me for not turning the thermostat up at night, and the worrywart fretted about the electricity bill. But I cranked that sucker. When you walked into my house, you saw your breath. It didn't matter that the overnight low was a laughable 79 degrees, in Jenny's Ice Castle you had your pick of cold pillows, and the down comforter stayed tucked under your chin all.night.long. And it was good.

But you know what?

I still hated the heat. I cursed it whenever I'd get into my truck and felt the back of my legs bubbling the second they made contact with the burning leather seats. I'd go on walks in the pre-dawn coolness and gasp at the swollen, Johnsonville bratwurst fingers on my hands. I raised my shaking, plump fist to the heavens when one of the big-headed weather men would show us a week of 90's and practically DEMAND that we "GET OUT THERE AND ENJOY IT". Screw you, bobble-head, I'd think. You get out there. I have air conditioning and cable. I know where I'll be.

But my hate for the heat has been closeted. It has to be when you have kids. Unless you want to bear the responsibility for creating the next generation of heat-haters, you have to paste a grin on your sweaty face and get your fat ass out there. You find the right kind of t-shirt at Target (and can I just say, right now, how much I also HATE cap sleeves? They are the mortal enemy of thick-armed girls. It's like putting a baby bonnet on an Easter ham.) and you buy them in a few neutral, fade-into-the-background colors (a couple white, some light gray, and just because, you also buy the black ones). You stock up on stretchy capris. You go to the Land's End Inlet and find the most flattering skirted tankini with a matching breathable burka/coverup. And you get your big, expand-in-the-heat-butt out there. For the sake of the babies, dammit.

You take comfort in knowing that in a just a couple of months all of your thin friends will be shivering when the temp drops to 60 degrees and they will start whining " boo! where did the summer go?". You will be wearing your hoodies again, your long cardigans and your jeans, and you will be vindicated. Your sweaty ass suffering will be over for another year. The long down parka will come out of her hibernation, just as you do.

And it will be good. Cold, and good.