Fat Vampire

I have to make a formal complaint to all food selling establishments in the universe. Or rather, a suggestion.

As a middle-aged, bald gentleman of generous carriage, a huge beer gut and size C moobs, I don’t have a very friendly relationship with reflective surfaces.

I was walking towards the Chinese food joint in the mall food court for a healthy hangover-curing breakfast of orange chicken, fried rice and Gatorade before taking in a film at the movie theater, a mere 50 foot walk away.

I turned the corner with all the grace you might expect from an oil tanker and came face to face with a very brightly lit mirrored wall.

I often forget how unattractive I am. I do see myself in the mirror every morning when I brush my teeth but I’m barely awake then. So I forget. But then a friend will post a photo with me in it on Facebook or I’ll happen on to a reflective surface. It doesn’t matter how I get a look at myself in the cold, harsh light of reality. It doesn’t matter if I’m dressed nicely for a wedding. Well, it does help a little if I’m dressed up in a suit as it does conceal some of my more unattractive features. Today I was wearing cargo shorts, pastel lime green vans, and an Iron Fist logo t-shirt which nicely accentuated my fat protruding gut.

Fucking hell, was my thought. I literally stopped cold in front of the wall and stared for a few seconds. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t look away; that old chestnut about a train wreck. I thought the physical transport for my soul looked a certain way. The person I thought I looked like was not staring disdainfully back at the mirror at me. It was as if a fatter, uglier version of me ate the skinnier pretender that I fancied myself to be.

I’m a monster. Good thing I’m only doing platonic relationships and interactions now.

Speaking of monsters, you never see a fat vampire. I guess blood isn’t too high in calories maybe. And even if they could get fat, they never get to see themselves in the mirror.

And it’s ok. This isn’t a cry for help or pity. I don’t meet the criteria for what makes a guy attractive in our society. I’m not saying seeing the real me didn’t bum me out. It did. But I think the hangover helped that feeling along. But in general, I’m good with being an ugly weirdo. It just “is” to me.

Since I decided to go fully platonic, my old voice used to scream at me to dress better, shower, say only the right things to women, is still alive and well. Every time he speaks, I almost follow his suggestions. Out of habit. But then I remember I’m not in the game anymore. Eventually, he’ll quiet down to a low murmur. I think.

This orange chicken sure is hitting the spot. I better get going. I wanna make sure I get my extra buttered tub of popcorn before the movie starts.

Right the whole suggestion bit. If you don’t want to dissuade us fatsos from eating large amounts of fast food or food in general, make sure there are NO reflective surfaces at your establishment. You can send me a finder’s fee as a thank you for the increase in your profits.


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