So I had to race to the local daggy supermarket to get toilet paper. On Valentine's Day, in between clients. I realised I hadn't really eaten much but couldn't be bothered thinking so grabbed McDonalds.
There I was, a fat girl, sitting alone on the most romantic day of the year, wolfing down cheeseburger and fries, all alone and in a hoody and tracksuit, in a food court with hair askew.
Normally if I'd see someone like that I'd think a few things. Like "poor gal, needs a make over, " or "she looks lonely," or even, "bet she shoves in bad food like that all of the time."
Just cause I'm plus size doesn't mean I don't think those uncharitable thoughts about other fatties at times!
Today though the reality was different. No one would ever guess I was wolfing down the first food all day, in between orgasms, wearing a $300 set of bra and knickers under the tracksuit, zonked out and happy on sex endorphins, and with nearly a grand to be banked for a few hours of Valentine's Day fun.
One should never assume *anything* in this world.