The Good Fight
Run for Refuah and Save a Life, the banner reads. Nice. I hover over the Click to Sponsor tab, and my eye catches something else
The next time the good, neighborly women of the Los Angeles Ladies Auxiliary (yes, they willingly call themselves LALA) invite me to a singles’ event, I’m going to get a T-shirt made up beforehand. It’s going to say Just So You Know, My Life is Awesome. And yes, it will be in size XL.
And maybe neon green, just for kicks.
Not that anyone would believe me. Apparently, being an overweight older single doesn’t translate as awesome. The thing is, I don’t actually care. I love my job, my roommate is the sister I never had — okay, I have three sisters, she’s just the sister I actually get along with — and our apartment, with its wood paneled floors, skylights, and island kitchen, is my happy place.
Yeah, ‘cause that will fly at the next 15-year-old cousin’s wedding. I’m kidding, she’s 19, but still. Babies raising babies and all that.
Retail therapy, here I come. Oh, but first, actual therapy.
“It’s not that I feel the need to prove anything to the world,” I explain to Sarah, my wonderful, amazing therapist. “It’s more that I want to punch the next person who tells me that if I lose weight, my prospects will start flooding in. I mean, A, I’m healthy. I asked the doctor. Yeah, I can lose weight if I want, but he said everything is great. And B, why, why, why is getting married contingent on being a size zero? I have an amazing job, I’m smart, funny, talented—”
“Humble,” Sarah chimes in.
See why I love her?
“That too.” I flash my dimples. “So why did Rebbetzin Cohen redt me to the boy working behind the counter in the 7-Eleven on Pico Boulevard? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I explicitly said I’m looking for a half-day learner. And we all know 7-Eleven is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”
“So you feel that based on the way people perceive you, they’re not hearing you?”
“Exactly.”
“And do you think they’ll hear you better if they perceive you differently?”
I’m quiet, which is quite rare. “Yeah, I guess so,” I say at last.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
I don’t have an answer.
Zara is quiet this time of day. I finger a linen peasant skirt and then skip right to the loose-fitting dresses. Kay, it’d be nice to just pick up a skirt and be able to buy it. But that’s not how Hashem made me, folks. I take a handful of dresses, head to the fitting room, and bump right into my mom.
Oh boy.
“Shosh!”
“Ma.”
“You look so good!”
It’s the tone of surprise that always gets me.
“Thanks, Ma.” I peek at her pile. Yup, linen peasant skirt’s lying right there on top. I’m out.
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