Living large

I have run across a number of posts on different blogs about people (other gay men) trying to deal with their bad body image. I am no stranger to this. I have never been too satisfied with my own appearance and a long stretch of letting myself get tubby didn't help.

I wear a size small in shirts. I have always been a size small. So, today when I decided to buy a tee-shirt off the Cafe Press site I checked the size chart before I put in my order. I am a large.

In the past 2 years since I started this 5th grade science experiment, that I think of as "how big can the old guy get, lifting weights" I have gone from a 37 chest to a 42. Now, I admit 42 doesn't sound all that impressive, but you should bear in mind that I am only 5'3". Proportionally, I suppose that means I am pretty big. I just don't see it.

When I look in the mirror, on my best days what I see is some scrawny short bald guy with love handles. That's about it. This attitude catches me a lot of shit, of the "what are you bitching about" variety.

One of the most recent attitude adjustments that was handed to me was when I was standing in the office door talking with my pal La Simpatica. This is a girl whose bras are a monument to the science of structural engineering. I was wearing an open Hawaiian shirt and a wife beater. Monkey walked up to us and made some remark about my chest. La Simpatica gave me a critical once over and announced, "Yup, girls with big tits get it all their own way."

Since this pearl of wisdom came from someone with a lot of practical experience, I may have to reevaluate my perspective on my shape.