Drag out your giant bags of Halloween candy, if you still have any left, and check out the packaging. Do any of the bags you purchased say “Fun Size!” on the front? Does anyone have any idea what this term means? What is so darn fun about “Fun Size” candy bars?
We all know from experience that it’s certainly not fun when you have to unwrap 25 of those tiny little suckers to feel even remotely satisfied. They are so small, that if you sip water with them, they slip down your throat like a vitamin.
There is nothing fun about trying to shove all of those wrappers in your pocket at a party so people don’t notice you’ve been eating fun size candy bars all night.
It is definitely not fun when someone eats all the good ones and you get stuck digging through a giant bowl of Charleston Chews trying to find the one Kit Kat they missed on the bottom.
And there couldn’t be anything less “fun” than watching someone eat just one and walk away. Meanwhile, the rest of us stand near the bowl like junkies saying “I’m just going to have one more Reese’s peanut butter cup…seriously, I really mean it this time.”
It’s tough to figure out what the candy marketers were thinking when they decided to call these menacing little treats “Fun Size.” A fun size candy bar to me would be one too big to fit in the front seat of my car. Copyright © 2009 Alison James
Unless you’re one of those naturally skinny chicks out there, you inevitably have ups and downs with your weight like I do. And like me, you know when you’re headed down the road to chubby land – your jeans get tighter, your shirts seem smaller and your bra feels like a tourniquet constricting blood flow to your upper body. These signs are quite common but there are others that catch us by surprise. Sometimes life screams “Hey fatty” in a way that catches us off guard and sends us scurrying to the gym.
One of these moments happened to me a few days ago. I was washing my hands in a public restroom when I leaned over the sink and something horrific happened – my butt triggered the automatic paper towel dispenser. Yes, somehow that thing detected motion coming from below and spit towels my way. At first I thought “Why do they have that thing so close to the sink?” but then another woman came out of the stall, washed her hands, and nothing happened. The dispenser lied motionless while she stood near it.
You know it’s time to pack away your skinny clothes, and drag out the black pants and baggy shirts when your butt starts triggering automatic devices. My new rule: if the neighbor’s garage door opens when I walk outside in shorts, I know I’ve got a problem on my hands. Copyright © 2009 Alison James
I was reading the news coverage of Jon and Kate’s divorce and I feel really bad for those eight kids. The whole situation will definitely take a toll on them. But I am also a little embarrassed to admit that their story made me breathe a sigh of relief. When I read about someone’s marriage on the rocks, celebrities doing really stupid things, and all the problems other people have, sometimes I get this odd sense of personal comfort. It is not that I am happy that others are suffering. I don’t want to see other people in pain (unless I get to pick the person and do the deed). These stories make me feel relieved because they remind me that I’m not alone in this world, that my life isn’t the only imperfect life out there.
The Germans have a word for this phenomenon: Schadenfreude. Wikipedia says it means “pleasure derived from others misfortunes.” I hate to inform the Germans but we’ve had a term for this state of mind for decades; it’s called “being a bitch.” Their word sounds more official, but ours is much easier to understand.
Nonetheless, the German definition sounds a little sadistic. I wouldn’t say I derive pleasure from other people’s suffering, like the kind of pleasure I get when I eat a cupcake or win on a slot machine. It’s more like a “reduction in anxiety.” I feel a little more comfortable when I know I’m not the only one out there with problems.
For most of us, these feelings stem from insecurity. It’s tough to see other people succeed in life because it makes us question our own abilities. When they screw up, we feel affirmed, like we’re not doing so badly after all. We struggle to get to that point where we no longer compare ourselves and our lives to the world around us, where we derive our self-worth from within. But getting to that place is a long, tough journey.
I know I am not there yet. Even though I want to be happy for the gorgeous, skinny woman who marries a hunk with a million dollars, I still have the urge to tie her down and force feed her donuts until her thighs look more like my own. I just can’t help it; I’m human, I’m insecure, and I want to share my love of baked goods with others. Copyright © 2009 Alison James