I describe myself as an “author and humorist” on my website mostly because I think I’m funny. Lots of other people tell me I’m funny, and my wife tells me the stories I’m writing for my upcoming book are hilarious…so I’m going to go out on a limb here and believe that I’m not the only one who thinks I’m a humorist.
Being funny comes naturally to many fat people, especially those of us who have been fat for our entire lives. My experience is that it’s a common coping mechanism. Getting people to laugh with you helps avoid the possibility they will laugh at you because you are fat. But, I’m also genetically pre-disposed to being hilarious. If you know my family, I think you’ll have to agree.
You may notice that I use the word fat rather liberally. I’ve found that this tends to throw people. It’s not PC in the U.S. (for the most part) to describe someone as fat or use the word to describe yourself. I’m PC about a lot of things, but the demonizing of the word fat is one of my pet peeves. I’m fat, lots of you are fat, many people are fat. It’s not a bad word. It’s just an honest descriptor. I’m on a soapbox to sanctify the word fat!
I’ve decided to put out a “teaser” for the book I’m writing. Usually when I tell people I’m writing a book, they ask me what it’s about. It’s taken me a while to congeal my thoughts into a brief statement describing the book that doesn’t result in eyes glazing over or someone falling asleep. So, here you go. The best way I have come up with to describe it at this point is: “A collection of short stories and humorous anecdotes about living life as a fat person, along with a dose of inspiration and hope.”
What do you think? Does that catch your interest? Would you want to read it? Let me know your thoughts in the comments section below.
I’ll be offering up these teasers periodically. I hope that the teasers, along with my blogs, will inspire you to buy the book once it’s available, buy copies for every fat person you know, buy copies for every skinny person married to a fat person that you know, and buy copies to hand out to strangers on the street. I need to make a living, after all.
With that, here’s today’s teaser, taken from the chapter entitled “Donuts.” Who knew a whole chapter of a book could be devoted to donuts? Well, if they are the object of your affection as they are for me, you’ll get it completely. Enjoy!
From “Donuts” in Jon Stanton’s “I Haven’t Figured Out the Title Yet, but I Hope You’ll Really Like It and Buy Lots of Books” (As is common, names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.)
“I’m not quite sure when I first fell in love with donuts. I am specifically attracted to cream-filled long-johns or “crème sticks,” depending on what part of the country you’re from. I’ve rarely met a donut I didn’t feel like consuming. In fact, I’ve rarely met a donut that I didn’t end up consuming, except during years when I was on the donut wagon and denied myself the joy of donut-eating altogether.
The beauty of the crème-filled donut is lost on many individuals, so let me explain my infatuation. Not only is its outside gloriously plump and glistening with the chosen variety of grease and frosting, but the inside is a conclave of love. Yes, hidden within this log of love is a deliciously sweet and succulent center…the crème zone. The crème zone is like heaven has come down to earth, for one brief moment, and the pastry gods have selected you as the chosen one. The zone, in all its addictive glory, is a place where many a man, including me, have thrown common sense and nutrition facts out the window in pursuit of the thrill of donut-y decadence.
A bit of personal pastry history is perhaps helpful in understanding my donut addiction. I first recall encountering donuts at a young age within the confines of my own mother’s kitchen. A hearty woman of German stock, my mother would periodically fry up her own homemade donuts in the electric skillet. Although these dull, brown lumps would soon be cast aside for more voluptuous choices, my mother unwittingly opened the door to an addiction. I couldn’t get enough of those doughy, fried lumps, and I earned many a spanking when mom discovered that I had eaten an entire batch.
In elementary school, I was exposed to Mister Donut, the local donut chain where we lived in Canton, Ohio. Oh yes, there was also Dunkin’ Donuts and a couple of other places, but Mister Donut had it all. The donuts were prepared on site, and you could watch the miraculous process through a viewing window. Each carefully hand-crafted masterpiece lovingly made its way through a vat of pig grease to a conveyer belt where workers would caress and massage the finished creation into the true object of my desires — the crème stick.
Mister Donut’s crème sticks were especially alluring because of the size of their crème zone. The donut dough itself was merely a shell, an outward façade designed to catch your attention and spark desire at the thought of what was hidden underneath. One bite and you realized the façade was only a millimeter thick. The crème zone was readily accessible and arrived in your mouth within the first bite.
My father and I spent many happy hours in the booth at the Mister Donut crack house. My dad is a studious guy who also enjoys donuts. Like most addictions, there is probably a genetic predisposition at play in donut obsession. Dad and I usually began with two crème sticks each. Dad would get coffee and I would get a Diet Coke. Fat people drink a lot of diet soda especially with fast food or “fast” donuts. It doesn’t make sense, but neither does what I’m about to tell you.
Dad would slowly drink his coffee, eat his donuts, and read his Bible. Did you know eating donuts is a religious experience? Sugar-induced religious euphoria is one of the acceptable euphorias for Christians, and one that many experience every Sunday as they wander through the pre-worship fellowship and load up on sugar and caffeine before entering into an atmosphere of peaceful worship. Go figure. Oops, a rabbit trail…sorry. Follow me back to dad and Mister Donut.
I spent a lot of time with my dad in situations like these. Dad liked to read his Bible and study…in a restaurant. Mom liked me to be out of her hair. I knew that dad was relatively clueless about what I ate and would be more likely to allow me to indulge my donut fantasy. So, we spent many hours out of the house together. Dad would enter his spiritual zone, and I would usually read a book or the newspaper. My two introductory donuts quickly gave way to three and then four, and then if dad really wasn’t paying attention, maybe five or six or more. I was quickly becoming a donut junkie. One was never enough; a minimum of six were required to obtain the same high.
My donut addiction continued to blossom, and by the time I was in high school, I was strung out. I was eating upwards of a dozen donuts every week, usually in secret. Just like any other addiction, I committed my sin under wraps. I would occasionally allow myself to be seen indulging, but would usually only publicly eat one donut, and then stash extras in my pockets, my car, or the inside of my coat. It’s altogether possible I may have shoved a couple of crème sticks down my pants. I don’t recall doing it, but in the midst of the addictive fog, it could have happened.
I also found a donut-buddy. Jared struggled with his weight, too, although he wore his weight better. He was fortunate to be more than six feet tall, which helped stretch him out a bit. I never made it past five nine, which meant I looked like a life-size jelly donut myself. When we moved back to Michigan when I was in 10th grade, Jared and I hit it off immediately. We had known each other through church connections in the past, and he lived only a mile from my house. I began dating his sister in short order, so it’s only natural that we became donut-buddies. We made quite a team.
Jared introduced me to the local dealer, White’s Bakery. By this time in my life, the small stuff no longer had the intended effect. I had moved past gateway donuts to the big guns. White’s was my crack house. Jared and I were regular junkies showing up on its doorstep. Occasionally, we would meet other donut-heads while there, but we always hoped to beat them to the really good stuff.”
Want to read the rest? Stay tuned for the debut of my book – coming as soon as I finish writing it. If you want to make sure you don’t miss the chance to pre-order your copy, sign up to receive my blogs via email below – so you’ll be one of the first to know!
Hope for the Heavy 