My Dad
grew up in Kent and so when he moved up to Nottinghamshire after he married my
Mum, he was considered a “foreigner” In fact my Aunty Marie never actually
directly acknowledged him. Instead she would ask my Mum “does your whattsit want a
cup of tea? “Does he take sugar?”
 |
| This is a stunt Aunty Marie, not the real one. |
I’m not sure if she thought, that if she spoke to
him he would somehow start to brainwash her with his southern ways and before she
knew it she’d be dressed as a pearly Queen, serving up jellied eels and asking
people if they wanted a “barth” and not a “bath” She assumed that because of
the Midlands / South divide there would be no way they could understand each
other and therefore nominated my Mum as their interpreter!
 |
| My Mum & Dad...quite normal really! |
The reason for my tale of family history is
because a similar thing happened to me yesterday. Somebody made an assumption
about me and as we know “assumptions are the mother of all f*** ups”
When
you’re overweight people assume that you’re not fit, a couple of steps and they
expect you to collapse in a heap on the floor begging for someone to fetch you
a mobility scooter.
Yesterday Lucy and I went to a meeting and in the course of
general conversation we got onto the subject of golf and Lucy politely
mentioned that she might like to give it a go one day. Straight away this lady
offered to take Lucy along to her golf club and play 9 holes with her. I saw
her look sideways at me and I could see the thought going through her head “ I
wont ask fattie, I doubt she could walk the distance to play 9 holes without
having to stop for a family bar of Dairy Milk and a sit down”
Now don’t
get me wrong, I couldn’t run a marathon, but for a fat chick I’m actually quite
active! Most weeks I go to the gym a couple of times a week and do high
intensity dance classes and because I wear a fitbit, I know, that most days I
achieve 10,000 steps.
Yes I’m overweight, but I am doing something about that
and I know for a fact that I’m far healthier than some of my skinny friends who
must have been blessed by the Gods of “having a laugh” as they never do any
exercise, eat chocolate all day and spend most evenings sat on the sofa. Ask
them to go for a walk and their first question is “how far” and then a look of
panic when I reply, “Until Cyril (my crazy beagle) starts to look a bit tired”
It’s really easy to judge people and assume
you know all about them by how they look or sound, but the reality is you don’t.
So just as my Aunty Marie should have spent a bit of time actually getting to
know my Dad and learning that Kent isn’t in the East End, maybe the lady yesterday
shouldn’t have discounted me from a game of golf. Although secretly I’m glad
she did, because if I’m going for a walk, I like Cyril to be there too!
PS –
Another pound gone!
