'Big ol' girl' having some big ol' fun

Isn't it amazing what comes out of people's mouths?

So many feel compelled to comment on anything out of the ordinary. I'm not talking those pleasant little "Ooo! You got a haircut" or "I love that new blouse" kind of quips.

I'm talking: "What's your racial background? Because your hair has a weird curl to it."

That actually was said to a friend of mine by a total stranger. My friend is a Latina, but what difference does it make? Would that stranger's life be changed in any way by knowing the truth?

My friend handled it perfectly. "If I knew who my father was, I could tell you," she said.

There should be some sort of psychological study done on these people. Perhaps someone at the university could look into it.

And that progressive scientist could start with a stranger I met last week.

It was at a young friend's new apartment, where I was making sure the landlord wasn't taking advantage of him. You know, testing the air conditioner and refrigerator, making sure the locks and faucets all worked, etc.

The landlord was chatting aimlessly about new carpet and laundry facilities when things took a turn for the worse. He looked straight at me and said, "You're a big ol' girl, aren't you?"

You know how time can stand still during moments like those? I was keenly aware that my face was turning purple. I registered the complete ignorance on the landlord's face and the utter fear on my friend's face.

He's known me long enough to realize what was about to happen. And he was terrified that he'd never get his toilet or anything else in that apartment fixed for the length of his lease once I started talking.

So I smiled. "Some people would use the more flattering adjective 'tall,'" I said.

But really, who am I fooling? Yes, measuring more than 6 feet, I am tall. But I also am the size of three female Olympic gymnasts. They could form a human pyramid behind me and never be seen. Heck, The Rock could stand behind me in a crowd and never have to worry about pesky autograph seekers.

And that makes me big with a capital B.

The thing is, I'm OK with it. Sure, I'd be happier if I were an Olympic gymnast or two lighter, but I like myself.

So that's why I'm not too bothered when I hang with my buddy Nancy, a size 2 who attracts much positive attention from strangers. Male strangers, that is.

It is almost laughable the way those guys feel compelled to incorporate me into their conversations with Nancy on occasion. Basically, they talk to her for 10 minutes and then turn to me and say something like, "Isn't that right?" It is their way of showing her they are deep, charitable guys who clearly are not embarrassed to be seen talking to a big woman in broad daylight.

A teenage waiter actually wrote a personal note to Nancy on her doggie bag the other day. She looked mortified. I was entertained.

"What, no phone number?" I said.

The kid obtained a business card from the restaurant, wrote his home phone number on the back and put it on the table.

I couldn't help myself. I snatched it up and put it in my wallet. "Thanks!" I said.

Now it was his turn to look mortified. Although that number was tossed in the trash a week ago, he is living in fear that, after all the work he put into attracting Nancy, he will be called by the large woman sitting across from her.

No worries. I'm happily married.

But too bad that waiter doesn't know what so many lucky men do: We big girls can be big fun.

And that's a scientific fact.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.