Ch 1: Boxes

If I want a piece of cake, I will eat a piece of cake. If I want to wear a bikini, I will wear my bikini like I am Pamela Anderson running on the beach in slow motion. You can stare. You can look at me crazy. You can even make jokes about me behind my back. It doesn't bother me.

I gave up trying to fit in boxes when I realized... at 300 pounds... hell, there aren't many boxes I can fit in anyway. At some point, you learn to just be yourself and throw up your middle finger to anybody who tries to put you in a box. My size has never stopped men from trying to get my phone number in my Facebook inbox. My size has never stopped me from getting gifts send to my post office box. In fact, I've had men take me to stage plays at the theater and put me in a box seat. Don't play with me. Okay!

Many Men 

You'd be surprised how many men act like they don't want these thunder thighs, but they are usually the main ones hitting you up in your inbox trying to get with you when nobody is around them. Men ain't worth a dime. They all want the same thing. If you can pump up their little egos and make them feel like they are a macho Mandingo you can get a man to pay your bills for a quick cheap thrill.

There was a doctor named, Dr. Harold Swayze. He was handsome, like a young Denzel. Chile, he was fine and all the women wanted him. I met him at a bar and I had him laughing for hours. He said he loved my wit and my confidence. But, after three margaritas... I don't know if it was the alcohol or that nasty other person he had locked away inside. Whatever it was, all I know is Dr. Swayze had me doing dirty dances all night long in that Hyatt Executive Suite that he paid for with his company's credit card. Okay!

I will never forget, Miguel. He was the head of maintenance in the apartment complex I used to live in. He could fix anything. I knew he was thirsty for me because he would stop by my apartment to fix appliances which weren't even broken. Chile, he fixed my dishwasher three times in one month and I hardly even used that thing. By the third time, he had me on top of the kitchen counter licking all over my plumps and humps. I had never been with a Hispanic man but Miguel was my Spanish Fly. He flew by my door every chance he could. I had Miguel walking around the apartment complex singing R. Kelly's Bump N Grind in Spanish bitch!
QueenThe thing is, I don't even throw myself at men. I've just never had a problem getting a man. Maybe it's because I never looked at myself as fat. I didn't see myself as ugly. I never felt like an outsider. Honey, when I walked in the room even the skinny girls payed attention because I walk with confidence. I knew I was a Queen at 8 years old. My daddy told me that.

My daddy made me believe I could be Miss America. He used to carry me on his neck even when my fat ass caused his shoulders to hurt. He still carried me. He said sitting high would never allow me to think lowly of myself. It never mattered who laughed at me or called me names, my daddy made me feel beautiful. Plus, he drove a Corvette and all the boys in our neighborhood thought his car was cool.

He'd tell me my skin was chocolate because I was a thicker than a snicker. He'd tell me my eyes were so big so I could see through all the fakeness. He said my nose was big because God wanted me to smell bullshit a mile away. My daddy even told me I had a big booty so my homegirls wouldn't have a reason to steal my clothes. Anything that would normally make a big girl feel rejected, my dad taught me how to deflect it.

So, as an adult woman at 27 years old, I fully understand I don't fit in most boxes, and I am ok with it. I'm like one of those special boxes that UPS delivers that says, 'handle with care'. Better yet, I'm not the box they squeeze into the mailbox. I, am a special delivery.  Purple  My dad lives with me now. It's funny because even though he has Dementia, he still makes me feel valuable. Well, also because he thinks I am Oprah.  No really... he thinks I am Oprah. He tells people his daughter created The Color Purple. Sad thing is, he thinks I made the color purple. Not the movie. The color.
Somewhere deep down inside, I know he knows who I am. I can tell by the way he looks at me. It's that same look he gave me when I was the chubby girl in the county pageant. To everyone else I was the Honorable Mention participant but my daddy always made me feel like I was the queen. People never understood why he would cheer so loudly and make the most noise in the audience when I was literally in last place. But, if nobody else applauded me, my daddy made it known... his babygirl was loved.

Maybe that's why I don't allow men to play with my mind. Most heavy girls have to take the dick they can get. Not me honey. I get that fly you to Aspen for the weekend, five star restaurant, first class United Airline kind of pipe. Baby, the only Spirit I will ever fly on is the Holy Spirit. Plus, I can't fit in those tiny uncomfortable Spirit seats anyway.

I'm not conceited. I'm not even materialistic. I just refuse to let a man treat me lower than what he would do for one of those bony girls who twerk on Instagram for likes. Those girls aren't any better than me. In fact, their skinny little body is all they have to offer. I have a degree in Mass Communication, good credit, a beautiful house, a closet full of shoes and half of them have only been worn one time. The other half had broken heels because they couldn't handle the weight  of my beauty. Baby I am all that. Dammit, my daddy said so!

Pleasure Principles  Don't get me wrong. I have had my share of disappointments. Like, the time my daddy went off on Sis Elaine Howard at Zion Hill Baptist Church. That's the church we went to when I was young. Sis Elaine wouldn't let me Praise Dance with the other girls. She said I couldn't get the steps. My daddy wasn't dumb. Sis Elaine didn't want me to be one of the Zioneers because I was fat.

"Mr. Johnson, this is just not the right fit for her," she told my daddy. He looked at her with fury in his eyes and told me to go wait in the hallway while he talked to Sis Elaine in the fellowship hall. "My baby is the best dancer up in here and if you don't let her dance I will set it off in this bitch!" They had some deacons to remove my daddy from the building because Sis Elaine said she felt threatened. I heard yelling, cussing, tables were turned over, and a whole lot of commotion. "Dem girls ain't doing nothing but turning around in circles and waving their damn hands anyway!"

We left that church and never went there again. About six years later, we were in the mall and a little chubby girl was throwing a major tantrum because she wanted to ride the kids train but they wouldn't let her. As I turned around, I recognized the woman who was with her. It was Sis Elaine. Her grandbaby was the  overweight girl. She was yelling and acting a fool up in that mall  but that day, she got a dose of her own medicine.

There have been many times I've had to cry myself to sleep at night because the kids didn't want to sit beside me on the bus. Molly Alston said if I sat one one side of the bus the other side would need hydrolics to keep the bus from flipping over. Ha ha ha, they all laughed. Now Molly works at the Dollar Tree with five kids. Her ass is flat as a pancake, her belly sits out front like a Kangaroo's pouch,  and her titties droop down to her knees. Looks like she is the one who keeps flipping over!

People think being heavy is a punishment or something. Fact is, some of us just come from a line of big women. Madea a was big. My mama was a big woman too. I really don't even eat a lot of food. My body just stores it differently. Chile, I have tried all 'dem diets. Jenny Craig ass has never done a thing for me. I even tried wearing those curdled body suits they sell to 'train your body'. I felt like a Thanksgiving turkey filled with stuffing. You can't eat this. You can't eat that. Hell, I must've been gaining weight from air because that's the only thing it seemed they allowed me to eat.
At one point I was making myself sick trying not to eat in the cafeteria at school. The kids would always try to give me the food they didn't eat as if they just knew I would eat it for them. Oh yes, I have been though it all.
My confidence didn't develop until I channeled my inner Beyonce. I discovered there was a Janet Jackson inside of me.  I taught myself my Pleasure Principles. Happiness comes from self-validation. People only want you to be in a box because they can't get out of the one they are stuck in. I Iearned to accept myself as I am and anybody with a problem can literally kiss my fat black ass.

Personality

As a Hostess on a Talk Radio Station, I get paid to entertain other people's opinions but what they really want is my down right truth. I never hold my tongue and I tell it like it is and people love me for my authentic personality.

It's mostly men who call the talk show. The older White men call in to talk about Trump. The Black people want to complain about over policing. The women want to talk about their cheating husbands. The religious people want to talk about how Jesus can cure homosexuality. The Gay people want to talk about homophobia. The poor people want to talk about gentrification and the rich people want to talk about how the crime is bringing the whole city down. Everybody has an agenda but some kind of way I make them all love me. They really just want somebody to listen and even though I talk a lot, I am a good listener.

In fact, most people love me. I'm funny and energetic. It's usually my job to brighten the room. Bubbly yet confident, quick to respond yet thoughtful, big and beautiful... all the men in my life seem to get me... except one... Andre. He's my best friend, and secret crush since elementary. He acts like he doesn't have feelings for me but he does. He just doesn't know it yet.

MicrowaveAndre sleeps on my couch every now and then when he is trying to hide from all his problems. I have to be his voice of reasoning which stops him from doing stupid stuff. Men are such cartoons. Just animated for no reason.

I swear, most men couldn't fix a pot pie without the pictures on the back of the box telling them what to do. Andre is sexy and very kind but he is dumb as a doorknob. He put foil in the microwave and almost burned my whole place down. "You can't put foil in a microwave dumb ass!" It was like talking to a child.

I told him, "Foil can go in the oven but not in the damn microwave." Andre had the audacity to say, "Well, why do they call it a microwave oven then?"
I just looked at him with levels of disappointment on my face.  The only reason I didn't just slap the fire out of him is because he had just gotten out of the shower and he didn't have a shirt on. Water was still dripping down his chest and I lost focus for a second. That happens a lot. It's like he has an invisible control over me. When he licks his lips, lays on the couch asleep, fixes the sink, and when he gets a fresh haircut, my Lawd that man just takes my breath away. He distracts me from being the boss that I am.  Then, he'll do a stupid man thing to remind me, he ain't nothing special. He is just an idiot like the rest of them.

However, I have to store these feelings for him in the back of my mind because Andre is still very shallow. I am everything he is looking for in a woman but all he sees are these thick thighs and the extra meat dangling from my arms. I put up with him because I have known him since we were kids and being that he does I.T. work from home, he can watch daddy while he works. It works out for everybody, but it puts a daily beating on my heart. Especially when I see the basic bitches he goes out with. They don't want anything but his money. He can keep his money. I just want his heart.

Combination

One of the reasons I believe in myself so much is because my dad made me watch a movie about Josephine Baker when I was a kid. She broke barriers during a time when a colored woman wasn't allowed to perform in White theaters. She refused to let the color of her skin define her self worth and she refused to let men put her in a box. She took her destiny into her own hands and she changed the game. I knew I wanted to be just like her.

My favorite pizza is the Combination Pizza. You know the one with sausage, pepperoni, and ham on it. It reminds me of myself. I'm creative like Missy Elliott. You never know what to expect with me. I demand respect like Jill Scott. I'm sassy and sexy like Chaka Khan and like Monique, I tell it like it is.

Personality can be a gift, but it can also be a curse. Not everybody is willing to accept your confidence. To some people, your strengths threaten them. The General Manager at the radio station where I work is looking for any reason to fire me. I believe if he could have me killed and get away with it, he would. It's a never-ending war between he and I but he doesn't know what to do with me. He is monster, like most men are when they can't lock a woman up in a box and control her. He has a lot of power, but he doesn't have enough power to change ME.