Fat - Jennifer Baljko

“Your mama’s so fat, she's got more rolls than a bakery,” my boyfriend Pete chimed in.

“Oh, yeah, your mama’s so fat, she was floating in the ocean, and Spain claimed her as the new world,” answered Pete’s smart-ass friend, Mike. The others practically fell to the floor, holding their stomachs or spitting out their beer.

“Oh, God, kill me now,” I pleaded to the morons sitting on the couch next to me. I’m trapped in an off-campus apartment with a bunch of dumb-asses who like “your mama” jokes and can’t afford anything better than a case of crappy Olympia and stale Foodtown brand cheese puffs. I should have gone out with my girls. At least, we would be drinking pitchers of Bud Light, cheesing on other idiots who at least looked cute when we had our beer goggles on. But my college sweetie won my Thursday night with the promise of out-of-the-oven slices of pizza from the joint a few blocks up.

“You guys are freakin’ idiots,” I moaned, taking a long pull on my can of piss beer. “These jokes, yeah, they’re not funny. Really, they’re horrible. They’re condescending, degrading, and completely insulting to everyone, not just mothers, or women, but everyone. Don’t you ever think about the stupid things that come out of your mouths, and how inappropriate they are.”

Obviously, I was the minority voice in the group. I was the independent, liberal, feminist chick from the other side of the campus where it was common to spell woman as womyn, a rebellious attempt to show we weren’t dependent on that primitive other species. The frat guys found me amusing, and didn’t even try to hide the fact that I was as entertaining as mama.

“Lighten up, honey. What’s all the static,” Pete slurred, flinging his arm over my shoulders. “Gotta love her. She’s so feisty,” he said to the others, while puckering his lips, readying himself for a little loving.

“I’m just saying… they make you sound totally uneducated…” I stammered, letting Pete’s tongue slip into my mouth.