The thing about Back Fat is, you just have no idea.
We’re not owls. We don’t have 270 degree head rotation capabilities. And we Weighties spend most of our time avoiding prolonged self-scrutiny in the mirror. We’re not about to start using the hand-helds so we can get a more accurate look at our all-too-obvious flaws.
That’s why our scathing self-criticism is focused on our jelly bellies, sprawling thighs, and bulging booties. These are the parts we can see on a daily basis. Or else we’re trying to cram them into our ever-shrinking jeans, slacks, skirts, and trousers.
But shirts? We just buy bigger shirts. We don’t stress out too much about it. “It’s our bodacious bosom,” we say, or we just go with the styles that are designed to be roomy. “Ethereal” or “Sporty” are two style words that come to mind to support the purchase of larger tops.
Now, I admit – the bra straps should be a giveaway. But since something like 98% of all women are roaming the Earth with ill-fitting bras, it’s easy to understand how we Weighties don’t pay much attention to a sadistic, flesh-binding torture devices.
But then it happens.
Someone snaps a spontaneous pic at a party or gathering, and you happen to have had your back to the camera, mingling innocently, unaware of the Lebowitz-wannabe behind you.
After the merry-making event, the party pics gets emailed around to all attendees. So many happy pictures! What a fun time was had by all! Until you notice the back of a very large woman with Quasimodo-esque lumps plumping out of her sweater, and by some strange coincidence, the sweater is the same color of the sweater you were wearing. Oh, and she has your same hair-do as you, and even your pants look similar…
Egad! It’s YOU! It’s YOUR Back Fat!! You didn’t even know you had to worry about your back, and yet – there it is, a monstrosity if ever there was one.
Layered rolls, tumbling, cascading. Displaced skin. Pudge with nowhere to go but out. Shoulder blade cushion. Armpit stash. No wonder you can’t wear button down shirts anymore.
It’s not your ample cleavage on your chest. It’s the growing boob garden on your back.
And as your epidermis expands, and your shoulders get closer to your skull by default, you notice you’re being attacked from behind, too. And those guerrilla warriors take no prisonors.
And to think, you never even saw it coming.