Categories > Original > Drama
Unsatisfactorily Fat
0 reviewsA TRUE mother should accept her son or daughter for who he or she is. Does yours?
0Unrated
“How much do you weigh?” my mom asked me out of nowhere.
“115,” I replied, flicking through T.V. Channels in frustration, gritting my teeth with each syllable. I felt ready to throw the remote at my own mother, right between the eyes.
Now, I don't hate my mother – oh no, I could never do that. But she really ticks me off sometimes. Just the way she looks makes me want to stab the nearest living thing. Her lips, cherry red; her eyelashes curled and extended to its maximum point; her pink-white wardrobe of extremely wanton and revealing clothing. She even destroyed her natural body for the sake of beauty. Her was dyed with light brown and blond streaks, the skin above her eyes, cut and shortened to produce a double eyelid; her stomach, small and saggy from the work of a liposuction surgery and her face looking like a freak doll thanks to the work of plastic surgery. How such a plain, ugly girl like me was related to a cougar like her, no one knows.
I always knew my mom wasn't satisfied with my own look, but it grew more and more obvious by each day – especially since I hit the age of 13. Lately, she's been asking me of my weight. The first time I answered, I was calm and thought of it as no big deal. The second time, my mood was the same. The third, however, I began to grow irritable of her questions. When she asked me again as I was surfing the TV in my living room, it was the eighth time – and I was ready to kill.
Being 5'4” at 115 pounds, most people thought it was great – that it was the average weight for a normal girl. But not for my mother, no sirree. I had to be thinner, more beautiful.
Then I began being a bitch to my mom.
Whenever we went anywhere, like food shopping or even for a walk, I noticed my mom would continuously hold my arm and even squeeze at it gently to see how blubbery it was. Naturally pissed off, I would pull away until my mom would whine, “What are you doing? I'm just holding you.”
You've never hugged me like this before. I would think to myself. My mom was using her fake motherly affection as an excuse to check how tone my arms were. Pathetic.
Also, one time I was doing the dishes and she hugged me and had her palms against my belly, seeing how big it got after I had eaten. Does every other girl have such a shallow mother?
But the time I was angry the most was when I had to go to a high school orientation. It took place from 9:00 to 2:00 and I had woken up late. Unable to run the to bus stop and get there in time, I woke up my brother-in-law to take me, but he was so sleepy and I felt guilty that I had disturbed him in his sleep. So, in his complaining, I decided that I wouldn't bother my family to drive me home – I would take the bus back.
However, I forgot to bring my money and was forced to walk back.
Later that night, my mom asked me, “Why didn't you call for a drive? Why did you walk? Is it for exercise?”
Instead of telling my mom that I had no money to take the bus or had access to a pay phone – let alone have money to use one, I smirked at my mom and said in a clearly sarcastic tone, “Yes. It's so I could get skinny”.
My mom had no ability to distinguish sarcasm from actual speech, so she ignorantly smiled and said sincerely, “Good for you.”
And I was so angry with her ignorance! She honestly thought I cared whether I was skinny, fat or pretty! I was burning with so much anger, I ran down to my basement and typed this story.
Every detail in this story is 100% true. I hope in the future, I can show this piece of writing to my mom, but you see, she has no idea that I wish to be a writer because I have always been too afraid that I'll disappoint her and that she'll try whatever she can to prevent me from becoming a writer. I know this story has been written badly, but it's because I'm fuming with frustration at the moment. Thank you for reading.
“115,” I replied, flicking through T.V. Channels in frustration, gritting my teeth with each syllable. I felt ready to throw the remote at my own mother, right between the eyes.
Now, I don't hate my mother – oh no, I could never do that. But she really ticks me off sometimes. Just the way she looks makes me want to stab the nearest living thing. Her lips, cherry red; her eyelashes curled and extended to its maximum point; her pink-white wardrobe of extremely wanton and revealing clothing. She even destroyed her natural body for the sake of beauty. Her was dyed with light brown and blond streaks, the skin above her eyes, cut and shortened to produce a double eyelid; her stomach, small and saggy from the work of a liposuction surgery and her face looking like a freak doll thanks to the work of plastic surgery. How such a plain, ugly girl like me was related to a cougar like her, no one knows.
I always knew my mom wasn't satisfied with my own look, but it grew more and more obvious by each day – especially since I hit the age of 13. Lately, she's been asking me of my weight. The first time I answered, I was calm and thought of it as no big deal. The second time, my mood was the same. The third, however, I began to grow irritable of her questions. When she asked me again as I was surfing the TV in my living room, it was the eighth time – and I was ready to kill.
Being 5'4” at 115 pounds, most people thought it was great – that it was the average weight for a normal girl. But not for my mother, no sirree. I had to be thinner, more beautiful.
Then I began being a bitch to my mom.
Whenever we went anywhere, like food shopping or even for a walk, I noticed my mom would continuously hold my arm and even squeeze at it gently to see how blubbery it was. Naturally pissed off, I would pull away until my mom would whine, “What are you doing? I'm just holding you.”
You've never hugged me like this before. I would think to myself. My mom was using her fake motherly affection as an excuse to check how tone my arms were. Pathetic.
Also, one time I was doing the dishes and she hugged me and had her palms against my belly, seeing how big it got after I had eaten. Does every other girl have such a shallow mother?
But the time I was angry the most was when I had to go to a high school orientation. It took place from 9:00 to 2:00 and I had woken up late. Unable to run the to bus stop and get there in time, I woke up my brother-in-law to take me, but he was so sleepy and I felt guilty that I had disturbed him in his sleep. So, in his complaining, I decided that I wouldn't bother my family to drive me home – I would take the bus back.
However, I forgot to bring my money and was forced to walk back.
Later that night, my mom asked me, “Why didn't you call for a drive? Why did you walk? Is it for exercise?”
Instead of telling my mom that I had no money to take the bus or had access to a pay phone – let alone have money to use one, I smirked at my mom and said in a clearly sarcastic tone, “Yes. It's so I could get skinny”.
My mom had no ability to distinguish sarcasm from actual speech, so she ignorantly smiled and said sincerely, “Good for you.”
And I was so angry with her ignorance! She honestly thought I cared whether I was skinny, fat or pretty! I was burning with so much anger, I ran down to my basement and typed this story.
Every detail in this story is 100% true. I hope in the future, I can show this piece of writing to my mom, but you see, she has no idea that I wish to be a writer because I have always been too afraid that I'll disappoint her and that she'll try whatever she can to prevent me from becoming a writer. I know this story has been written badly, but it's because I'm fuming with frustration at the moment. Thank you for reading.
Sign up to rate and review this story