‘Oh my God. Do you guys have sex? Do fat people even have sex at all? Does your husband even WANT to have sex with you? Can he even get an erection?’
This one time, a producer of a popular evening news television program called me to request an interview — body positivity, et cetera. The fellow, we’ll just call him Bill, was nice enough, not at all abrasive, and seemed genuine. He didn’t chastise me for my supposed laziness, my poor eating habits or lack of discipline, my BMI of 31 (32?), my glaringly obvious double chin, the three packages of biscuits in my cupboard.
And then the real pitch started with him talking about my “skinny” husband, what’s it’s like to be a fat (and by association, unfortunate?) woman in a relationship with a thin man (apparently this is called a “mixed weight” relationship. RUDE.). The conversation ended with my saying I’ll be in touch — and then never being in touch.
He didn’t have to tell me what he was getting at. Shows that are founded on the premise of you have personal “problem,” and are, therefore, worthy of gawking at, are good for ratings. Especially when they involve love and/or vaginas.
Because:
A. Even though it is an anatomical truth that my husband is, in fact, smaller than me, it certainly doesn’t warrant an entire half-hour program devoted to its discussion.
B. The fact that anyone thinks that the love/sex habits of a fat woman and her skinny counterpart are television worthy only reinforces the perception that the life of a fat person is so obscure, so completely outlandish, that the world would need a docu-drama to understand it.
C. No.
Hi World, there is nothing about me that is TV worthy, except I have five kids. That’s literally a sitcom.
(SPOILER ALERT: We are totally, painfully average.)