Where's my fan boy?

Holy cranky ladies, batman! This heat is getting to me. I'm starring in my very own version of "Grumpy Old Men". Except I'm a gal and, while I'm not a spring chicken, I'm not sure I could be considered old, either.
But then. There are the hot flashes. I'm not talking tiny little "oh, gee, it's warm in here" flashes. Oh, no.  It's a sweating-buckets, face-the-shade-of-a-tomato-covered-fire  truck, need-to-wring-out-my-shirt flash. I never do things small.
Maybe it's the hormones. Could be my thyroid. But it's probably just the fact that it's July in Arkansas. 102 in the shade today. According to my thermometer and our black lab, anyway. The weather guy says it was only 97. I think the dog was probably more accurate.
It's funny what triggers a memory sometimes.
As I was sitting in front of the fan, wringing my sweat soaked shirt for the 5th time in an hour, my son starts talking about our mouse problem. Seems our cats have decided they are vegetarian, and he wants to resort to tear gas and little mouse sized bean bag guns. Whatever works.
But with the combination of mice and the heat, my mind went back to summers over 30 years ago.
My cousins & I were at my grandma's house nearly all day every day during the summers. We'd play in the woods, swim in the creek, raid the dump for broken bikes and bottles. But one of our favorite places was the spare bedroom right off of grandma's living room. We'd play "house" for hours, our babies 2 quite scary looking life-sized dolls with clumps of missing hair. We loved those dolls.
However. Grandma had a mouse problem. Multiple mice, actually. Of course. Like chips, you really can't have just one.

Grandma loved mouse poison. You know, the little pellets that look remarkably like some sort of fiber cereal. And she put this stuff EVERYWHERE. In the closets, under the couch, behind the TV, between the pots in the kitchen cabinets. This was before she got overly concerned with accidental poisonings or such. You see, we grandkids were so well behaved and rarely got into anything without asking. It wasn't until those pesky great-grands came along that there were problems.
Right.
In any case, the mice loved the poison too. And we all know where mice go to die. Why they like the most interior wall, smack in the middle of the house, I'll never know. But grandma's mice did. In fact, I think there must've been a little mouse cemetery in that one wall, rarely did they die anywhere else.
But that wall. The wall in between the living room and spare bedroom. The room we loved to play in. Every summer, without fail. Just when it would begin to heat up, a mouse would die in the wall. And just when it would *almost* stop smelling to high heaven, along came another "fresh" one.  Grandma went through so many cans of air freshener, she really should've taken stock in Glade.
Like I said....funny what triggers a memory. I can still smell the dead mice and the Hawaiian scented air freshener grandma would spray every 10 minutes.

To this day, I don't like either.

The power of words. And donuts.

Ok y'all. It just got real. A little wisp of a thing called me F.A.T. *gasp* In Walmart, of all places. In front of my daughter. Yeah, I wanted to throw my basket of jelly filled donuts at her.
Ok...in all honesty, the donuts were for my oldest son. I'm a chocolate glazed kind of gal.
But I digress.
This young gal was looking down as she ambled up the aisle, eyes intently staring at her phone as she texted an OH, so IMPORTANT message. At least, I *assume* it was of dire importance, since she couldn't take a millisecond to glance up. As she strolled closer to us, I pressed myself as far to the left as I could, up against the wall of baby formula, pulling my daughter behind me to allow her to pass. And pass she did. But not before taking off what, if I had been a sedan, would be considered my passenger side mirror.
At long last, she glanced up. And out of her perfectly lipsticked pout flowed these words......
"Move it, fatso."
Well.
That lipstick is starting to look like the proverbial "Jewel in a pig's snout".
Apparently, pretty only goes skin deep. So very sad, really.
Ok. Before I go any further, I want to say that I realize a few things. First, I know I'm not exactly "slim". I will confess, though, that at a fluffy size 14/16, I hardly consider myself a "fatso". At least, I hadn't until tonight. I have learned to appreciate my body in all sizes, and believe me...my body goes through sizes like Taylor Swift goes through boyfriends.
Seven years ago, I was a petite size 2. And then I had 5 babies back-to-back. And breastfed those babies. I literally have been all numerical sizes in between, and I have the boxes of clothes to prove it. But here's the thing.....while I'm breastfeeding, those extra pounds DO NOT BUDGE. Period. I've had 10 postpartum experiences, and during the first 9, I tried EVERY SINGLE DIET KNOWN TO MAN. But nothing works. Until I quit nursing. Then I'll start to get my waist back. But like I said....5 babies in 6 years. Haven't really had time to bounce back yet. And I'm still nursing baby #10.
I have no intention of quiting just yet. It's the best thing for him, and I need a better reason than "I want to lose weight".

All that to say: yes...I could stand to lose a few pounds. But while I know that, and I have time to work on that, I wonder.

Do you, wispy texting gal, know just how much impact you have with your words? Do you even understand or stop to think....how the words you speak, even just passing by, have an effect on those you utter them to?

I came home tonight, not happy about the time I got to spend one-on-one with my precious daughter, but sad and hurt because a complete stranger called me an ugly name in front of her.

Do you know how your words affected her? My sweet, impressionable pre-teen daughter?
I venture to say that no, you don't. You have no clue. I say this because you were so wrapped up in your own existence. In that text that simply couldn't wait.

Do you know how your words affected me? Would you even care that I came home nearly in tears, relating the entire episode to my husband while he sat silently and listened?

Do you know how your words affected my husband, though he didn't hear them directly? No, you wouldn't know that the man that has stood beside me, lifting me up, encouraging me, loving me....you wouldn't know that he felt sad & just a bit helpless. All these years he's spent teaching me to love, respect & appreciate my body....to have confidence in my beauty....all threatened with a 2 second sentence from a stranger.

So as I sit here tonight, I am praying for you. Praying that it was a moment of weakness for you. Praying that you realize, before it's too late, the power of your words. Whether intentional or not. Familiar person or stranger.
Above all, wispy young thing, I pray that you KNOW THAT YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. Because knowing that, deep down in your soul, will help you treat others as if THEY are beautiful.
And they are.
You are.
I am.

Even if I have extra junk in my trunk and donut glaze on my upper lip.
Yum.

PS. Eat a donut. They make everyone smile. :)