One interesting development of losing weight (aside from the justification to buy fabric for the replacement wardrobe) is that I get a lot more unsolicited attention in public. I’m going to assume that this is fairly typical, although I haven’t had to deal with it in a long time. (I am back to my high school weight, for what that’s worth. Still not small.)

I came home the other night to the neighbors hanging around drinking, being the primary male recreational activity around here. I don’t talk to them much because I usually have something to do and I’m not into beer and cigarettes. Or loud Spanish covers of 70s Top-40. But I digress.

So one neighbor guy said hi as I walked up and clearly it had just hit him that I was, umm, “Hot” may be a word. Ok, I was wearing gym clothes that leave little to the imagination. He’s far too polite to say anything obvious (my being “somebody else’s woman” and all) but was clearly taken aback at the realization and stammered through a compliment on my new-found healthy lifestyle.

Now Dillo has long commented on the gloriousness that is my Oakland booty but aside from a few fat admirers (and, strangely, a gaggle of boys on Market Street one afternoon who clearly didn’t recognize I’m old enough to be their mother) I have mainly not thought much about it.

When I was younger, being overweight was still thought a horrendous curse and mostly I got the “maybe I’ll hit on the desperate fat chick” kind of crap. Now the way things have gone, I’m pretty small compared to a lot of American women. Fortunately I’m now dealing with middle-aged adults who have less awkward brain-addling hormones and a better command of the English language (umm, mostly.) At the risk of sounding like some airhead twit, I guess I should start getting used to it.

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