One Good Deed Deserves AnotherI performed a good deed yesterday on my way home from work. It was 6:30pm, and I was in the MRT together with my colleague. She was fortunate to have grabbed a seat, while I had to just stand in front of her, groveling over that prospect. On her left was a head banger. She banged her head against the window, against her neighbours' shoulders and against the bags she was hugging. On her right was this plump and fair lady whose make-up was so thick her face would probably crack from any facial expressions.
At the City Hall station, I peered out of the window and saw this young lady with a tremendously big tummy - she must be pregnant. Her nose was swelling, and she walked with her hand on her hips a.k.a. backache from the additional weight. She managed to make her way through the crowd into the MRT, and as she was making her way to the dancing pole behind me, the train jerked, and she slid into a man in his 50s. I could almost see him drool at the contact. The pregnant lady apologised and continued to the pole, where she grabbed with all her life using both hands. My colleague was well asleep, and the others next to her were doing the "Great Pretenders".
Next to me was this big lady, with a few huge moles on her face. If my memory serves me correctly, there is one above her right lip, one on her left brow, and another on her tip of her nose. I am sure there are other smaller moles, but they are not as significant as these raisin-sized ones to be of interest. As I was standing arms folded, she was strafing, slowly but surely, closer to me. While I act oblivious to it, I shivered at the thought of jelly-liked arms pressing against me and the aroma of sour sweat tinkling my senses. I hoped its just the smell of sour grapes because she did not get to rest her butt.
"Next stop, Tanjong Pagar," the usual voice rang from the speakers in the train. I pondered as the lady next to my colleague fidgeted her hand bags, plastic bags, sling bags and what-have-you. The "Mole" was inching towards me still, preparing to make her move. In the instance the "Bag" stood up, I spastically slid to that seat and motioned for the pregnant lady to occupy the seat. She thanked me with the watery kitty eyes from Shrek 2. Everybody turned to me with an approving nod, except the "Mole", who was now aiming for the head banger's seat. Probably head banger is alighting soon - she is now acting flustered, digging her bag for stuff.
Ding dong! The door opened again at Outram Park station. A very elderly man limped his way into the train. Mrs Pregnant woman immediately stood up and offered him the seat. He thankfully slumped into the chair, shoulders banging into my colleague as she woke up in fright. The Pretender next to the old man began to feel embarassed that a pregnant lady had to give up her seat for the elderly man, so she offered her seat to Mrs Pregnant woman. It was strange watching the entire sequence of events.
As the train moved off, the elderly man started to spread his wings. He encroached into my colleague's seat as I read the papers he opened up. Good thing my colleague had minimised the amount of space she needed the last 18 months, or else 3 quarters of that seat would not suffice. Unknowingly, the "Mole" had shifted from my left to my right. With that dexterity and agility, she must undoubtedly be one of the top government moles planted among the population.
At the next stop, head banger alighted, still shuffling stuff in her bags. When I turned back, the "Mole" had occupied that seat. Amazing skills! The pungent smell had found a home like the perpetual reasonance of tracks grumbling under the weight of the train and its passengers. She had eased herself onto the seat, her gigantic biceps resting on the left shoulder of my colleague a.k.a "Eyes Wide Shut". Her 18 months of self-preservation came in handy, as she adjusted herself into half of the seat. No winged creature or skunk could put her down!
RecollectionIt really does pay to perform good deeds. I sacrificed a seat for a pregnant lady, and I was spared from suffering the poison apple. While I was patting myself, I remembered another incident concerning pregnant women and an obnoxious fat women. That incident happened way back, but I could have easily re-enacted it.
The scene was again, me on a MRT train going back home. That time, I was comfortably in the corner seat of the train that was meant for the elderly, disabled or needy. It was a bloody long day, and I was tired. The whole time I was trying to take a nap, I was being kicked on the leg and awoken by a hoarse voice chatting away on the mobile. I looked up to find a fat and obnoxious woman giggling into the phone while pacing in front of me. She was oblivious to her surroundings, absorbed in her conversation about how the plot of a show should have gone. If she was that good a director, she would have a better sense of direction than to knock into the stationary "ME" sitting quietly in the train. She must really understand her the train does not allow a substantial mass of meat patrolling the standing area when the train is crowded and moving. Many of the passengers were already giving her disapproving stares and glances.
Pissed, I scrutinised the noxious mass closely. She is probably in her late 30s. Her hair was short and spunky, with tints of red and brown badly spreaded. This looked like a poor job done with the D.I.Y. kits. Her cheeks are flushed red from excessive use of the blusher, and her fat lips were coated with a layer of glossy violet lipstick, a little smeared at the edges of her lips. She has got so much space on those lips, how could she even have missed and applied the lipstick onto her face! Similarly, she had mascara blots on her eyelashes, consequence of using too much to curl them up. I thought she would have looked better with lesser make-up. Also, if her cheeks were a lot less puffy, her eyes would have been a better match on the sides of the monstrous nostrils.
Never judge a book by its cover, I thought to myself. But her dressing is just terrible. A white tube and a transparent yellow flowery top going with a pink knee length pleated flare skirt. Her belt was a thick stretch of beige cellulite - her tummy looked big enough to be pronounced pregnant!
For the past 30 minutes, she had not stopped talking nor walking. I could feel some bruises on my shin. A part of me told me to pretend to stretch myself and nonchalantly extend my leg while she was walking past. But that was just too crude, absoultely no flair. Bloody fat woman who looks more pregnant than a pregnant lady!
Blink blink! I just got the most brilliant idea. When my stop was approaching, I stood up, tapped her on her shoulder and said as loudly as I could, "Take a seat! A pregnant woman should not be walking or standing on a moving train - its really bad for the tummy!"
Her face turned absolutely red, rendering her blusher useless suddenly. Her feet were rooted and you could easily tell she was figuring out how to react. The train door opened, I grinned at her and walked out. On my way out of the train, I could hear some chuckling and giggling as noxious mass quickly moved towards the other end of the carriage.
If you ever meet an irritating fat woman in the MRT, you could probably do the same to kick some ass. Yet in reality, I guess you could easily mistaken a fat lady to be a pregnant one.
4 Legs Good, 2 Legs BadIts probably the experiences I have had these 30 years. In my personal opinion, fat women tend to be quite irritating and imposing, quite in line with comments in "Female" and "Her World" magazines where the fat women would say that they are very confident and assured of themselves (in tubes and square jeans), ignoring their sizes. I always suspect theres a propaganda going around encouraging such behavior amongst the bigger women. Publications, advertisements and interviews tend to reinforce these women's beliefs in their attitudes.
"A room is a room is a room" the visionaries in the hospitality industry always quote. To me, its simply "A woman is a woman is a woman". While they all come in all shapes and sizes, its always the pleasant-natured who are most likeable. More often than not, the slight odder shapes and sizes tend to have something to prove to themselves, and worse, to the people around them. And by doing that, they lose more friends that they will ever gain.
Learn to accept yourself, then be yourself. Don't try to be a prick and act like you are way above. If you weigh 100 kilograms, wearing a mini skirt and sports bra does not make you look any slimmer or confident. Know your flaws, wear something modest and focus more on your likeable strengths, like your sincerity or helpfulness.
Most of the time, women have this invisible protective wall around them, telling them that everything will be fine. But when that time of the month comes, that invisible wall breaks down and they suddenly feel so helpless and ugly. Its this point in time that they realise the world is a cruel place. Nothing is worse than instilling a false sense of security into women. The Dove movement
Campaign For Real Beauty, for example, merely tells a woman that a chicken has 4 legs when it has actually just 2. As they deserved, the movement had received lots of criticism in the papers all over the world. An example of such an article can be found
here.
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, but beauty is often judged by its facade. Disguising the imperfection of this facade is not right. If she is a shining light beneath the facade, the rays will pierce through the little cracks in the imperfect facade.
