This isn’t a story about plastic surgery gone wrong or about excess skin from weight loss.
This is a story about someone near and dear to my heart. Someone who wasn’t unattractive by any means; but had a love for food, which was made evident by the few extra pounds they were carrying. Their clothes were modest, unassuming and didn’t always match.
After implementing a strict diet and a new gym regimen, the weight was melting off. I’ll admit, they sure looked good. Along with the new look and the new clothes that accompanied the new body, came something I wasn’t expecting.
During what I thought was a lighthearted talk, I had joked that I was starting to look old. They agreed, said I wasn’t pretty anymore, and that there was no point in lying to me about it.
I stood aghast trying to control the tears. I was hurt and disappointed all at once. It wasn’t just that they told me I wasn’t pretty anymore, but that they felt compelled and entitled enough to tell me so. When I expressed that my feelings were hurt, they not only didn’t apologize but acted as if I didn’t have any right to be upset.