I guess I thought we were adults now and didn’t hurl playground insults anymore.
I couldn’t muster a single word. I think I laughed. Laughed! Politely, ugh. Like it’s okay.
Later on, of course, I thought of a bunch of things to say, some of them mean (and funny). I would like to think I wouldn’t have said them, because that inevitably leads to shame, which was maybe your intention in the first place. You jerk.
I’m in good shape and look pretty great in a dress. But that has nothing to do with it. No matter what my shape and size, nothing gives you the right to comment in an unconstructive way (or pretty much any other way) on my appearance.
From within my close circle of trusted friends and family members who love me and have my best interests at heart, I really do welcome (and sometimes need!) input on my wardrobe. I really do. Really. And advice on health and fitness tips are always great. But you, dude, aren’t in that circle.
You don’t get to decide what shape I have to be to earn the right to wear certain articles of clothing. I can wear what I want, when I want. I can even look terrible sometimes, and fabulous other times, and it’s got nothing to do with you.
Don’t try and convince me it was some kind of veiled compliment. I know it wasn’t, cause that’s not how compliments make people feel.
Maybe next time I’ll say,
“What’s the matter with you?”
or how about a nice, simple, “What do you mean by that?” followed by awkward staring.
“Are you body-shaming me?”
“It’s not up to you.”
“That’s not okay.”
Or maybe there’s just nothing to say to someone like that.