Sometimes I wanna yell at fat people too.
The other day, I took my 2 year old to the grocery store. As I was walking in, I saw her. You know who I mean: a big girl with greasy hair and no makeup wearing a sloppy, oversized t-shirt, baggy shorts and chanclas (that’s flip-flops to those of you outside of Texas). She had a filthy dirty kid in her cart. The kid had a binky in his mouth, even though he had to be at least 2 years old. A real White Trash Wanda.
And I admit it. I started to judge. I am not proud of that, but I did. The first thing I thought was “have some respect for yourself”. Then I thought “Please God, don’t let me get stuck in line behind them”. Because I just knew that she would load up her cart with Ho-Hos and bacon rinds and I would have to listen to her gripe to the cashier about how her Lone Star Card wasn’t working. I knew I’d have to look at the whiny, snot nosed kid drinking Coke out of a bottle, while his mother yelled at him to “shut the eff up.” I had the whole encounter mapped out in my sanctimonious little mind.
Then I realized that I was looking at my reflection.
The filthy kid in the cart was none other than my precious miracle baby. (With a snotty nose, a dirty shirt and a binky.) (But he does not drink Coke out of a bottle. He uses a cup.)
Jillian Michaels would have had a field day with me.