Fat Pussy by Midori P. Yeung

Bubba is such a fat pussy. The bulk of her belly drags along the floor when she walks with her four short legs.

We describe Bubba with all the words we are no longer allowed to use on people.

But Bubba doesn’t care for semantics.

She circles around my legs and demands more snacks. Her soft hair tickles my skin and gives me a kinky mix of annoyance and comfort.

‘Bubba, I’m working.’

If you say so, she jumps on my desk and curls up on the laptop in front of me. She’s very fond of laptops; the electrical warmth comforts her tushy.

I let her. I don’t want to work anyway.

Today’s one of those days.

Bad.

Her long, furry tail flicks left and right like a metronome and smacks my face. I deserve that.

Tears fall out of my eyes, and I ask Bubba if I can give her my ego. Mix it with the cat food, or dissolve it in the water? She twists her head to follow my voice. The neck has long disappeared.

She’s never bothered if she has gained weight. Grave concern over her health but definitely not over her self-esteem.

This pussy has no shame.

I envy that.

We still play with her no matter her size, and we still praise her cuteness regardless. Pinching her excess skin is a massage for her, not an insult.

I want to be Bubba, fat and fabulous. But I’ve spent my whole life being the opposite of her. I’ve starved myself, tricked my throat to puke, ate nine eggs a day and nothing else.

I blame my ego. It came to my life since I hit puberty. I miss my childhood, the me that roamed around the playground like a free bird, not the one in front of the mirror that lets criticisms spiral.

We’re now sharing the small spot of sun on the balcony. She has her back on the floor and her limbs spread out like a star. Silly cat.

‘Let’s swap our egos,’ I plead to Bubba again.

My offer intrigues her. She jumps up and looks at me with her marble blue eyes. There’s a sense of seriousness in her pupils that I’ve never seen before. The kind of maturity and leadership only seen in a wild tigress gazing from the top of the mountain over the world.

This is the real deal. The pussy is ruling.

She continues to stare at me as if she’s really considering taking my story, my pain and my ego. She’s evaluating the worthiness of my sorrow. Her face starts to frown, the outer corners of her eyes lift upwards and her jaw and nose clench. Her pupils constrict. My breath holds.

There’re two of me in the reflection of her eyes. What she sees inside me must be ugly. The death stare doesn’t suit her chubby face. I try to look away, but she reaches out her paw and pins my shoulder down. I lay paralysed on the floor, helpless and uncomfortable. I can’t escape. She’s so big.

Face your ugly! Her squinting eyes say.

She walks all over me. Her four legs are now crushing my upper body. I thought she was about to kill me like her prey. I am so scared.

Slap my ego out of myself, slap me happy and carefree again. I beg.

I spread wide and let her dominate; I let her lick the tears off my face. Why don’t I get a choice in my narrative? Why do I have to absorb other people’s harsh opinions? None of these matters! My fists pound on the floor. Do what you want! Stop starving yourself. Eat well. Smile. Go swimming. Watch TV. Wear clothes your size. Show your arms even if they aren’t perfect. Wear a skimpy bikini. Yeah, girl! Drink wine. Allow.

Handle life with a cat mindset.

Not a care for the world. She is the princess.

For that minute, our souls must have exchanged. It really has.

‘You’re right,’ I look into Bubba’s eyes and say. Imagine I gorge on the biggest pile of meat. Just fucking imagine that.‘But I can’t.’ I can’t get up and walk to the kitchen. My body says no.

Her courage hasn’t lasted on me. I’ve failed, as I always do.

But Bubba loses that frightening gaze and holds down my forehead like a guru on a disciple’s third eye as if to cement my epiphany for one more moment. Her face softens and the kindness in her eyes suit her chubby cheeks much better.

Forgive yourself.

Namaste.

No more self-criticism in my story. Today, I let this shit go. Tomorrow…we worry about eating tomorrow.

Then she releases me, walks toward her treat’s cupboard, meows, and expects her reward.

We have done well today.

Yes, we have.

Midori P. Yeung

Image – Pixabay.com