Lesbian Mom: Petty Bitch

By: Shannon Ralph

My name is Shannon and I am a petty bitch. I am putting it out there for all to see. It’s the truth. Yes, I espouse egalitarian ideals when I write for The Next Family.  Yes, I like to write about love and compassion and respect for my fellow human being. These are the values I try to instill in my children. Unfortunately, my parenting style tends toward the do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do camp. In reality, I am pretty dang petty.

About two years ago, I joined Weight Watchers and lost thirty pounds. I felt amazing. Confident and attractive and proud and invincible —all emotions I had not encountered in years. I loved it. However, as with all good things, it was not to last. In the past year, I have slowly packed the pounds back on. And then some. I am not sure what happened. I rediscovered a love of ice cream. I learned, to my utter surprise, that I have some pretty kick-ass baking skills. Ganache changed my life. I uncovered a previously-suppressed affection for pasta. And gorgonzola cheese. In short, I remembered how much I like to eat. I am a foodie at heart. I like nice restaurants. I enjoy good food. I love a glass (or two or three) of wine.

All of this is well and good. Despite having a closet full of incredibly cute clothes that no longer fit me —despite having to run out to Kohl’s just yesterday to buy pants for work lest I begin hanging out in my cubicle in my skivvies— I am okay with it. Yes, I need to lose weight. Yes, I need to eat healthier. Yes, I need to exercise more. But all in all, I am okay with it.

At least that’s what I tell myself. Today, I came to a stunning realization. I might just not be okay with it. I may just be blatantly lying to myself, and stupidly believing my own blatant lies. I have a coworker who recently lost quite a bit of weight. Prior to her transformation, she was pretty close in size to me. Not grossly obese, but certainly pleasantly plump. We were bagel buddies. We shared an impassioned affection for asiago parmesan bagels for breakfast. Today, I am eating my bagels alone. My coworker is quite thin and looks incredible. As a matter of fact, as I rounded the corner to head to my detestable cubicle this morning, I barely recognized her standing there. She really does look amazing.

For the past week or so, this coworker has camped at my cubicle every single morning regaling me with tales about the newly-discovered benefits of her weight loss. She does this right away in the morning as I am still logging into my computer, desperately sucking down my coffee, and vainly attempting to pry my uncooperative eyes open. Now, I am not really a morning person. Coming to work at seven o’clock in the morning is heinous enough without a visit from Pollyanna Plump-No-More. However, I try to be nice and accommodating (without being too accommodating —I certainly don’t want to encourage her ass-crack-of-dawn visits). I try to resist the urge to chuck my coffee cup at her head. I really do. I ignore the violent imagery coursing through my brain. I smile, even as my jaw is clenched to the point of spasmodic twitching. I smile nonetheless. But it is getting progressively more difficult.

This morning, she was rattling on about how she is finding all of these new clothes in her closet that she never knew she had because they had always been too small for her. Apparently, she has a whole new wardrobe. She tells me this as I am sitting in the khakis I bought at Kohl’s yesterday in a size larger than I care to mention here. She then goes on to tell me, now that she is in the “maintenance” phase of her diet plan, she can finally have potatoes and peanut butter again. Apparently, the three ounces of boiled potatoes she had for dinner last night were “simply divine”. Big freaking deal. I had half a (family size) bag of Ruffles last night and they were the bomb! I made ganache-topped cupcakes last week that would make you sell your own grandma for a tiny morsel! I eat peanut butter by the spoonful. By the spoonful, I say! All by itself!

See, I told you. I am a petty bitch. I should be happy about my coworker’s accomplishments. I should be supportive of her. I should cheer her on. I should applaud her three ounces of boiled potatoes. However, I just can’t seem to get there. Try as I might, her morning visits annoy me.

I am resisting the urge this morning to hold her down and force-feed her Oreos. I’m bigger than she is now. I think I could take her. Plus, with a mouthful of Oreos, she would be incapable of talking about the damn boiled potatoes anymore. See. I’m a petty bitch.

I am not proud.

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