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because even though they turn sideways, they can’t help but ricochet off of my generous flesh. Human pinballs, they are, and yours truly is the rubber bouncer. Step right up, folks! A hundred points if you boing off the Lard-o Lady! Don’t think for a minute I don’t notice their glares.
    I guess I always just figured I was more than the sum of my parts. Sure, I’m overweight. But I’m so much more than a bunch of blubber. I’m a smart woman with skills and intelligence and I’m friendly and nice and—I have really good qualities. Can someone tell me why all of these characteristics seem to be cancelled out just because I’m fat? Fat equals invisible at best, repugnant at worst. And in reality, I could be thin and beautiful and be a hateful person—maybe a supermodel who throws phones at people and beats staffers who covet her jeans—yet that seems to be more valued than all that I have to offer. Simply because of my physical appearance.
    I heave a sigh of resignation. To quote an old sage, Popeye, "I yam what I yam." Although maybe if I’d have laid off the hollandaise sauce in favor of the steamed spinach, I’d be a little less of me.
    With little else to do for the indefinite future, I retreat to my kitchen and do what comes naturally when I’m feeling blue—I cook my favorite comfort food: lasagna. I bypass three recipes in favor of the quick-version, because I just cannot wait to sink my teeth into something that will help me to forget how miserable I’m feeling.

Classic Lasagne
    for the sauce
    1 clove garlic
    1/2 minced onion
    olive oil (couple of tbls.)
    1-1/2 lb. ground beef
    2 tbl. parmesan cheese
    2 small cans tomato sauce
    2 small cans tomato paste
    1 tsp. each: oregano, salt, pepper, basil
    Lightly brown onions, adding garlic (be sure not to burn garlic, allow to turn golden), add beef, brown, drain. Put back in stock pot with tomato sauce, paste, spices. Fill sauce cans with water and add to sauce. Stir well, bring to boil, reduce heat to simmer for one hour.
    for the filling
    1/2 lb. grated mozzarella cheese
    1 small container cottage cheese
    1 small container ricotta cheese
    1 egg
    dash nutmeg
    1 tbl. parsley, chopped
    salt and pepper to taste
    1 package lasagna noodles, cooked, drained
    Grease 13 x 9 baking dish. Put layer of sauce, 4 overlapping noodles, layer 1/2 the cheese mixture, layer 1/2 the sauce, then layer of noodles, cheese, sauce. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Cover with aluminum foil for all but last 10 minutes of cooking time.
    Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

Self-delusion is pulling in your stomach when you step on the scales.
    Paul Sweeney

One Half-Cup Sour Grapes
    I gaze into the mirror, stripped down to my sensible bra and flab-trapping panties, and all I see are waves. Undulating waves. Something that can be so calming under the right circumstances. Like nice, invisible sound waves conveying your favorite song. Or gentle ocean waves, viewed while sitting on the rooftop deck at the beach house, absorbing a sunset, Mai Tai in hand. Indulging in your favorite goat cheese and artichoke dip with some freshly-made crostini. And of course steamed shrimp, the tang of beer in which it was steamed, the gentle marriage of Old Bay and horseradish and ketchup (grandma’s recipe) feeling so decadent in its simplicity.
    But I’m not feeling calm, because these waves I’m beholding are composed of something far more permanent than that which courses across the dark ocean’s surface with the regularity of a heartbeat. They’re waves of flesh, veritable breakers. Make that a tsunami. And as I tug and pull and coax my Flexee girdle over the mountainous terrain of my Paul Bunyan thighs, my generous behind, my stomach that overlaps like a layer cake on steroids, I can’t help but wonder: how the hell did I turn into such an ocean of a woman?
    After donning all the necessary accoutrements of figure camouflage, including a jacket to cover my Jell-O arms and large, chunky jewelry to