Being Neighborly Fat Girl Style


When I was growing up, I lived in a small town in Iowa where everyone knew everyone else.  You knew all your neighbors by first name and always watched out for each other.  When someone moved into the neighborhood, I can guarantee you several of the neighbors brought over food to welcome the interloper like cookies, brownies, hot dish or pie.  Mmmmmmmm….pie.  I moved into my neighborhood over ten years ago and since having moved in, most of the houses around me have become rental properties.  I once knew my neighbors because we all moved into the new area around the same time and because my ex was friendly.  Being an introvert, meeting new people is not really my thing.  I could really care less who my neighbors are unless they bug me like the driveway parking assholes or the garage band rejects.  I have no need to be social.  Why would I?  I know you extroverts out there may find this hard to believe, but introverts really are quite comfortable in their own little bubble.  For reals.  It is BFF who makes me leave my house and do stuff.

One day, where she made me leave my little bubble and go on a shopping excursion with her, BFF and I returned to my house to work on a work project she had to finish.  In other words, she needed my craft skills and my supplies in my craft dojo.  Oh…and free labor.  When we were finished, I helped her carry stuff to her car and was going to walk to my mailbox after saying goodbye.  You will remember that we have those big mailboxes for everyone in the next three-mile radius it feel like.  Ok…maybe just half my street and around the corner since I know SOTL Man gets his mail there as well.  Yeah…I get the pleasure of him getting his mail right across from my house, probably scoping me out for his latest fat skin suit creation.  Fun times.  We get outside and right away I notice several of my neighbors have also stopped to get their mail.  I inwardly cringe, knowing that at least one of them will want to stop and talk to me and I will have to be friendly and not have Resting Bitch Face (this is something I excel at, trust me.  I don’t mean to, but somehow BFF and I manage to have it quite a bit).  It’s a real thing.  You can look it up and I bet you will see my picture.  I let out a big sigh, causing BFF to look at me questioningly and then one of our conversations happened.

Me (with apparent Resting Bitch Face):  “I guess I will wait to get my mail.”

BFF (now noticing others are at the mailboxes talking to each other and being all neighborly): “Why?  You don’t like those neighbors?”

Me (noticeably disgusted by the thought of having to actually have a neighborly conversation):  “That one on the left is annoying and weird and lives over across the street.  She totally bugs me.  The other one is a weirder guy who lives around the corner and is friendly with SOTL Man.  There are too many weird people here who want to like talk to me and stuff.  I really don’t like my neighborhood.”

BFF (with a slight knowingly smile on her face):  “You don’t like your neighborhood or your neighbors?”

Me (thinks for a moment):  “Well…ok my neighbors.”

BFF (laughing):  “So what you are saying is you don’t like people.”

Me (now laughing a little):  “Yeah.  Basically.  I don’t like people”

I adore her.  So glad she gets me.  Oh and by the way, by the time this conversation was over, the neighbors had left the mailboxes and I was able to go get my mail in peace. Thanks BFF!

Oh yeah…I didn’t die today.  I did avoid being neighborly and discover I just don’t like people, but I didn’t die.  I am Fat Girl who is not a friendly neighbor with Resting Bitch Face Running.  The experiment continues…

One thought on “Being Neighborly Fat Girl Style

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s