“turns out your article in slate about boulder is complete horseshit. 6 women philosophers in the department have come out in scathing opposition to the retarded investigation that was carried out on their department. you probably would have been able to figure this out yourself if you weren’t equal parts fat and snarky.”
Allow my significant girth to topple over with surprise — and watch for aftershocks, because I am so fat, you guys — that a gentleman who would use the word “retarded,” and attribute my insistence on reporting on sexual harassment investigations to my size (which, if I’m following, makes me unfuckable, and thus more apt to report on sexual harassment investigations!), would also not possess the reading skills to understand that the six “women philosophers” in question objected only to the broad brush that tarnished their innocent colleagues and not to the actual creepers in their midst who actually got fired. But, you know, words and all.
For what it’s worth, I happen to be a size 12 after the birth of my daughter, and I think I look beautiful this way, and so does my husband (and don’t make me remind you, hate mailer du jour, how the baby got there in the first place, since it would shatter your worldview).
But even if I were a size 22 and had never had a baby, I’d a) still be beautiful if I worked it and b) it would probably have no effect on my proclivity for writing about breaking news events in academe using all of the available information at the time.
Here’s a recent picture of me in all of my fat glory. Fat and proud, motherfuckers. Fat. And. Proud.