Something to Chew On

Once Upon A Time, I worked for a company that did lots of "intra-taining". Intra-taining is a phenomenon where the Bald White Guys (BWG) in the corner offices use sugar-coated feasts to lure out the underpaid minions in the hope that, once drugged by the Cater-Fare, they’ll market the BWG’s new message to the client/marketplace/sods underneath them. These edict-driven events usually occur at a meta-meal time, like 10am or 4pm, when employees had just enough time to get the whole of their daily caffeine intake through their digestive system and into their bladder, yet not enough time to race to the can after their first (or last) meeting of the day before reporting for the 'town hall' or the 'team meeting' or whatever the executive admin dubbed the gathering when she bolted it to the Outlook calendar. They're meta-meal times, but somehow, food always got invited.

Enlightened managers first scheduled these herald-songs at day's end, serving liquid treats (alcohol) as compensation to those forced to stay past quitting time. This happened until the aforementioned baldies realized that the enthusiastic applause resulted from the gin fizzies and not the marketing materials dancing their way across the overhead projector. Seriously, who thinks it's a good idea to deliver corporate-speak drivel to the Drained and Oppressed masses, who, having realized they've just missed the last express train, now unites in a single purpose to drain the open bar of all things Top Shelf before the last Guy in a Tie takes to the podium? So, away went the booze, and out came the hors d'oeuvres.

Food as Entertainment. Journalists posing as pop-therapists, or “doctors” waltz the American Overweight through a maze of Sociability Regulations, convincing all but the most militant that eating is not only acceptable to do when you meet or mingle with others, it’s rude not to.

We are social creatures, and we desire human contact, so we concoct rituals around excuses to throw ourselves together. We meet, we greet, we dance, and Crash! Sometimes we make a connection. Why is it, though, that it's imperative to meet only when food is the chaperone? I see no value-add to laying out a cheese tray or a fruit sculpture when people come together. I know, it's sacrilegious to suggest that we meet only as ourselves, but it’s just the culture talking. It’s just what we’re used to. We don’t need it. Or do we?

Yes, meal time and eating together creates a bond. We break bread with one another, and we connect. I have to tell you, though, that for me, food and socializiation create a vivid image of the Last Supper. Everybody’s sitting around talking, wearing their finest and united in their common purpose. Yet, somehow, everybody forgot the dude in the center holding his glass aloft and contemplating the crap-tacular evening that lay ahead of him.

I understand the concept of social spaces, and that we can only dance so close before we get to know each other better. I’ve had my space violated, as I’m sure I’ve violated other’s space, and it’s discomforting, to say the least. Maybe that’s where food comes in. We balance plates in front of our bodies, “shielding” ourselves from our conversation partners. As we get comfortable, the plates drop to our sides or, if it’s going really well, the garbage can. We discard the barriers and we get closer. Or we don’t, and the food keeps us safe. Let me tell you, though: as a recovering fat person, Food as Security Officer signals danger.

Humans are attracted to the attractive. If someone feels good, and feels beautiful, even if they aren’t then others are drawn to them. When I was heavy and I felt big and fat and ugly, I exuded a ‘don’t touch me’ attitude, and I got my wish. It’s self-perpetuating, too, since the worse I felt, the less I risked someone getting close and rejecting me, and so the more noxious the fumes I put off. That made me feel worse, and so on it went.

Now that I’m thinner and feeling more attractive, I want all that missed touch back. I want people closer to me. I want the touch, and I want those that I need to touch, to want to touch me. My favorite social space is that for lovers, which is 4 inches or less. When you are interacting with your lover (let’s just keep this generic for the parents out there), your most comfortable space with them is 4 inches or less from your face/body/whatever. I love that space, and I love when I’m comfortable enough to be that close to someone.

My family is not one for hugs or kisses or any kind of contact. As a result of that, I’ve become a Non-Hugger. As we tend to attract those who are similar to us, particularly those similar in phobias and neurosis, I’ve generally chosen friends and lovers who were also Non-Huggers. I get the corollaries to that too, where I/they are non-PDA, non-contact except as needed (read: for sex). Random touch is for the Getting To Know You phase, the Lovers phase, the Beginning, to be discarded as soon as the chase is won.

No more.

I want to hug. Bring me closer, and bring you closer. Dare to chisel at the space between yourselves. Dare to enjoy, and dare to love. And then let me know how it goes.

202.0 pounds today. Confusing that I’ve not lost anything since Saturday, considering I started my cycle 4 days ago. So goes the tide, I suppose.

A the C(ome closer)