Pales In Comparison

Everyone judges people. We all do it. We're internally critical of people, noting flaws and differences and unfortunate aspects of others' appearances, personalities, lifestyles- you name it. But we've been taught (some better than others) that it's not a good idea to make those criticisms known. The idea of "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything" is sound advice, even if we don't follow it as often as we should.

Yet there are certain things we feel we've got free reign to comment on, despite the fact that they're every bit as hurtful and judgmental as some of the things we're not allowed to say. And frankly, I'm starting to get a little pissed at your supposed right to tell me how I'm somehow inferior because I'm not just like you.

Until a few years ago I was embarrassingly skinny. Weak beyond words. I had a number of issues, chief among them that I just wasn't that into eating and I didn't eat particularly regularly or well. So I was always underweight. And if you've ever been in that boat, you know that being skinny in a society full of fat people is an uncomfortable place to be.

Heaven forbid I should ever discuss a fat person's weight or diet in public. So what on earth gives you the right to declare how I must never eat, how I'm so lucky to be so thin, and- my personal favorite- actually put your fucking hands on me to display how skinny I am? Let's turn this one around. Let's say your fat ass walks in the room and takes two servings of birthday cake. Am I allowed to tell everyone in earshot what a fucking fatty you are? Maybe comment on how lucky you are to just not give a fuck that you could fit three of me in those pants of yours? And while we're at it, the next time you put your chubby little thumb and finger around my wrist and hold it up for everyone to see, how about I take a deep breath and see if I can't wrap my arms around you? Maybe stand behind you and try to figure out how you take a leak when you can't find let alone see your peepee?

Do you think I liked being different? The butt of the joke? Would you? Do you even care about the reasons why I got this way? I'm supposed to be sensitive to your condition. I'm supposed to understand that you're unhappy, and it's having an adverse impact on your body. Hey Slim, when I graduated from high school I was six feet tall and one hundred and fifteen pounds. I know from eating issues. So how about we start talking about this goddamn double standard?

Lately I've put on weight and I'm much healthier. But I've got a new issue that's apparently everyone's business. One that makes even less sense, if that's possible.

I'm pale. I am, and I will be for the foreseeable future. I wasn't when I was younger, but things have changed. I'm anemic. And I'm anemic because I take medicine to treat my leukemia. Leukemia is cancer of your bone marrow. Let me tell you, it's a bag of dicks. Anemia makes you weak and tired and pale and generally all banged up. It's not fun, but it sure beats being dead, which is where I'd be without the medicine.

So I'm concerned that it's ok for you to tell me that I need some sun. I realize it gives you a tremendous sense of self-satisfaction to place your desirable, golden brown arm against my unattractive pale one and declare yourself the winner of the great suntan contest, but I think it's a little fucked up. I know white people are supposed to get suntans. It's what all the cool kids do. But I can't get one. I just burn. And it hurts and so I'm over it.

When I was younger I took all the skinny cheapshots without fighting back. Those days are over. I'm trumping your suntan attack with the cancer card, and I'm clearing out the goddamn room while I'm doing it.

"My God bryc3, do you ever go outside? You're white as a sheet!"

"Yeah I go outside sometimes, but I can't get a tan because I've got cancer and I'm dying. So tell me more about your vacation. Hey wait, where are you going?"