“Fat Hippo” by Eric Kilby is licensed under CC BY 2.0
Now, I don’t know how this happened, or what I looked into once upon a time on the internet, but suddenly, I’m getting emails with the following subject line: “So Now That You’re Fat, What Are You Going to Do?”
OK . . . when I started getting those emails, I found I had a couple questions. First off, who thought up this marketing campaign? I mean really, as a marketing guy, I found myself wondering who thought this was a good idea to start an email campaign with that subject line. After all, starting with a line like that is no way to win friends and influence people.
Try that kind of brutal honesty on a first date–(or a second date–or even on your wife of 50 years) and see how far that gets you. Seriously, can you picture it? You arrive home after a long day and your wife greets you at the door. You give her a hug and then, before you pull away you give her another hug. Then, you kind of step back and reach out and poke her in the stomach. And then, just to make sure, you slowly and gently squeeze her sides with both hands. Finally, you loosen your tie and say, “wow honey, now that you’re fat, what are you going to do?”
Yeah, just try that. I dare you.
It doesn’t take a behavioral specialist or an FBI Profiler to know that uttering those exact words is going to end in domestic violence. Those words are just not the kinds of words we use in normal conversation. Which is why I’m always a little stunned and surprised when I get that email in my inbox. Do they truly think that belittling me, teasing me, mocking me is going to urge me to take action?
Yeah, that’s the first question I have whenever I find this little gem in my inbox. My second question, however, is much more important: How do they know? Think about it: How do they know that I’ve gotten fat? Are they watching me with hidden cameras? Tracking my purchases at the store and keeping tabs on how many Hostess Apple Pies I’m cramming down? Are they keeping tabs on the clothing sizes I buy? The numbers of pairs of sweatpants in my wardrobe? Did they figure it out because they’ve monitored my phone calls and have heard me refer to sweatpants as “my wardrobe”?
Yet, as mystifying as that is (it’s probably got something to do with GOOGLE), as much as I wonder how they figured out my secret . . . I still have to come back to one sad little harsh reality, though: They’re right. And even though I don’t necessarily like their assessment or agree with their blatant, in-your-face honesty, I can’t dispute the facts: I’m pudgy.
I’ve let myself go. I eat more than I should and rest more than I need. In fact, I usually double those activities up and do one while I’m doing the other. As a result . . . I’ve blossomed. I’ve found myself digging through my dresser, looking past shorts and jeans and looking instead for sweatpants or things with stretchy waistbands. I’ve noticed that my baggy sweatshirts are kind of clingy and that my clingy sweatshirts are like a second bulgy and unnattractive skin. Finally, and most alarmingly, I saw video of me swimming in the lake with my kids on vacation. It was truly horrible to look at. So much pasty skin occasionally breaking the surface of the water like some kind of large fish going belly-up. Horrible.
At any rate . . . the bottom line is that I’ve let things go and I need to get them under control.
And that brings me back to that original email. Now that I’m fat, they have tons of suggestions for me. Oh, I haven’t opened the email to look, but I know it’s all about exercise regimens and diets. In fact, everywhere I go, everywhere I look, I discover that the only way out of this mess is to buckle down and spend at least 6 hours every night doing crunches and jumping jacks. It’s overwhelming to realize how much exercise is necessary to get back to my suggested weight.
No, I take that back. It’s not overwhelming. It’s overwhelmingly depressing.
But, the good news keeps coming. See, after I discovered that I was fat (thanks to that long email campaign designed to thoroughly convince me I’m a blob), I made a secondary (though equally depressing) discovery about my home. It seems my home, like me, has also fattened up.
And I’ll explain what I’m talking about in the next post. Hang with me and check back tomorrow!