Touch Me And You Die

Most people wouldn’t look at me and say, “Wow, you’re fat.” Actually, most people wouldn’t look at people in general and say that. Unless, of course, the person saying it is a complete asshole with no compassion or verbal filter. I was casually dating a guy a few years ago and he creatively told me I was fat. His exact words, “You’re not exactly the most petite woman. You  know that, right?” Shortly thereafter I casually dumped him. Regardless of how big I actually am (pushing 200 pounds on a 5’6″ frame), my weight, coupled with my Northern European bloodline, make me and summer not the best of friends.

As soon as temperatures hit 80 degrees, my mom thighs stick together and rub like a Japanese Sumo Wrestler competition and my body swells as it retains all the water it can on the off chance I find myself in the middle of a desert. I look at the summer sun and sob. I will sit there and curse that yellow bastard until I realize I’m still standing outside like an idiot when all I have to do is walk five steps to go inside where the AC is waiting to greet me with open arms.

My fiancee hates driving me anywhere in his car because he doesn’t usually put the AC on. This means he has to put up with me moaning in agony as if I were on my last breath after a horrific, life-threatening accident all because I’m fucking hot. I’m sure this makes the three-minute drive to the store feel like an eternity. I’m not even sorry. This also explains why he looks at me with panic in his eyes before we go anywhere, and asks me which car we are taking. I know his internal monolog is saying, “Take her car, please God, take her car. Don’t let her say my car.” We may actually be one trip away from him making me take a separate car altogether. Which is fine, as long as I get to have the sweet cold air of the AC blowing on my overweight body like a chocolate fountain.

When you’re a bit overweight like I am, summer helps you discover all these hidden parts of your body you didn’t even know had sweat glands. Like my belly apron. I had no idea I could sweat out a shot glass of sweat from there just by looking at the sun. You want me to sit in a lawn chair…outside…at the beach? There are another 2 ounces. Walking in the sun makes the back of my knees sweat. Suddenly it feels as if my armpits have moved down to my legs and I spend the entire walk wondering why I didn’t put antiperspirant behind my knees…again. It’s not long before my shoes start to fill with sweat droplets, causing them to squeak and cause blisters. If I were to lay out in the sun, after 5 minutes you would think someone had snuck up on me and sprayed me with the garden hose. 10 minutes, I’ve basically melted into the chair, never to be seen again.

That’s all just because of heat. Add in the humidity and I basically turn into a Disney villain on crack. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, and sure as fuck, don’t TOUCH me. Touch me and you die. I am not afraid of going to prison because someone touched my skin or tried to hug me when it is humid out. I don’t even let my children touch me during these times. I will look right into their dark brown eyes and tell them to piss off. They can touch me again in October.

The only time I enjoy the heat is when I am in the water, preferably a lake, river, or the ocean. Even then, you won’t typically see me above the water. I am usually the one floating, doing my best impression of a Sunfish or Harbor Seal. I have actually reached a body size, mainly because of my monstrous breasts, where I am able to float upright without the use of a floatation device. I don’t even have to spend money on a fancy river tube, I could just float down the river using nothing but myself. I have basically become a buoy and I am ok with that.

So, until the air grows crisp again and I can wear clothes without feeling like I’m wrapped in plastic wrap, I’ll be sitting in the AC or shade, dreaming of the days where I can build a snow chair. One I can sit in throughout the day with my Bailey’s and hot chocolate while wrapped in a winter jacket, snow pants, and my latest crocheted scarf. If you need me, I will probably be in my room talking to my jeans and sweaters, telling them how much I miss them and how will be together again soon.

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