And does being fat really necessitate the elimination of fulfilling common aspirations? And constant pre-conceived judgement? What if I was Black? And fat? The double whammy? I was never slim – genetics were not kind to me in the grand societal chronicles of who and what is deemed normal and acceptable. Their list was long for undesirables, and that’s fine. I suppose. I just wanted some peace. Anonymity from (overweight) scorn, disdain, and ridicule. I wanted love. Just one or two to simply look at me and get beyond the abundant flesh. Elsie had me, I suppose. But I felt more like furniture, a couch perhaps, than a wife. Certainly not a lover. A friend, maybe. Yeah, she was my friend. Like the one you hang with when nothing better is available. And I did love her. And want her. But her daily indifference was a deterrent. A sobering reality.