Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

I’ve been moo’ed at before. Just once. I was climbing into my car in front of a grocery store in Boston where a major road passed by. I didn’t realize until the car had passed, but the guys hanging out of the windows were indeed moo’ing at me. It was a bit easier to pass it off because I was fairly certain that I’d never see them again.

This morning, when I was wrestling some art furniture into the back of my car for travel to the sale site, three guys in a truck pulled out of the driveway next door and proceeded to hurl insults and cackling laughter and fingerpoints at me. Apparently, my fatness was threatening them somehow. Maybe it was just really funny to see the fat lady sweating in her office clothes and high-heeled boots, trying to fit art chairs into an SUV. It didn’t feel funny, but maybe it was.

I acted like I didn’t hear them. I’ve pretended that it didn’t bother me. I’m forced to confess that I’m mortified.