Fat is an invisibility cloak. Sort of like Harry Potter’s — only less fun and adventurous. I thought age was the cloak, but perhaps, I was wrong.
About eight years ago, when I started to put on weight, men and women stopped noticing me. They’d close the door in my face, not hold the elevator door, bump into me like I wasn’t there. I chalked that up to cutting my hair really short, or being black - depending on the day of the week.
Lately, however, everyone has taken a chivalrous pill — or it was the fat. At a somewhat svelte size six, I feel like I’m the talk of the town.
Men are knocking themselves over to open doors, hold elevators, and chat me up. Women are falling all over themselves to help me in stores, give me complimentary flowers, and let me go down the escalator.
For about two weeks in October, I just thought everyone was being nice. Then some guy flirted with me in the lobby, another in the elevator and it was like being transported back to my early twenties.
It was then I realized — it’s probably losing the weight that has made everyone so nice. I’m sure you’ve seen all the Oprah episodes where fat people say they feel like no one sees them. It’s true — only I didn’t realize they stopped seeing me — until I became visible again.
So, I don’t think I’ll be doing the stealth thing any longer. Maybe, that’s for the best. I’ll be looking to disappear again around forty - unless I look like Demi Moore or Angela Basset - because for them forty is the new thirty.
