Eulogy for "r"

Loretta Lynn—a country legend—released a song in the past few years with a chorus that whines, “I miss bein’ Mrs. tonight.” Well, tonight, I kinda did. I’ve actually been pretty indifferent about my lack of name change post-divorce…until tonight as I was preparing for the Parent Open House. As I began preparing my usual routine for Open House, I pulled out a box of refrigerator magnets that I like to hand out as a catchy gimmick to entice parents to use my teacher website and other contact information. I glanced at the magnets, and noticed one glaring problem: the “r.” In a whisper, I mouthed the words, “M- r - s. Corrie Zimmerman.” I folded the box back up and tossed it in the trash—figuring there was no sense in handing them out and misleading people into thinking I was still happily hitched.

I moved on to a new plan—I would just use technology and show parents my website. I sat at my computer and typed in the ‘ole website address—getting it all cued up for my presentation. During the middle of my first-period presentation, I noticed another pesky little “r”—right there in the “About Me” section. Shenanigans! Another one. I made a mental note to change it after Open House. On my drive home, I started thinking about how much I let the “r” matter. I—for some unknown reason—started thinking of how my next blog must be a formal goodbye to the letter “r.” In an effort to say goodbye to the “r” in “Mrs.”, I will Reappropriate some uses for “r”:

R is for Rebound and Repugnance:

After my divorce, I have begun to face the realization that I am now back “in the game”—and my fat @$ has gained 40 pounds while “sitting the bench.” In an effort to slim down to my pre-marital (or, better yet, pre-college) weight, I’ve begun to hit the gym. During a sweat session last week (the one I blogged about, as a matter of fact) I became eerily distracted by a new TLC show I saw on one of the many televisions mounted to distract runners and elliptical-machiners.

Here’s where repugnance comes in: in the scene TLC is using as one of their “hooks”, there is a 300-pound woman with a stripper pole behind her (Disclaimer: Follow link with caution). Watching with repugnant fascination, I see her squat into a sumo-stance and smack her inner thighs—the thighs subsequently Rippling from the obscene dance move. Literally, I almost fell from the treadmill. I couldn’t unhook my headphones from my ipod quickly enough—switching them to the plug on the treadmill that allows gym-goers to hear the televisions. I quickly learn this show is called “Big Sexy”—and its premise is to demonstrate the plight of a group of plus-sized models trying to “make it big” in the “big city.” And there’s a lot of big. What I found interesting—among many things—is that the women have a name for men who prefer a good BBW: Chubby Chasers.

Where do I sign up? No, just kidding. It was Repulsive. As I began contemplating my Rebound status, I was just downright alarmed. I’ve always had interest from boys—and, until Recently, I have never wondered why: “I is smart. I is important. I is (sometimes) kind.” Seriously, I don’t need to quote “The Help” to know that I am a catch. I is also funny, spontaneous, and perrrty. So it has never occurred to me that men who are interested in me might be of a breed called “Chubby Chasers.”

“Dear Lord Jesus,” I prayed on the treadmill, “Please do not give me anything else to fixate upon. Please keep me away from said Chubby Chasers. Please make me not Chubby so I will not be Chased by said Chubby Chasers. Please, God, if you are listening. I will run at 6.0 and increase my incline to 10.0 and run for 45 minutes instead of 30 and lift 180 instead of just 90 on the leg press. Just please.”

I think my answer to this prayer comes in the form of another R. Respect. Whether Chubby Chaser or not, I will expect respect from any man I am with. More importantly, however, I will respect myself. In the past few weeks, I have found that I am far more obsessive about my weight than any of the guys with whom I’ve hung out. Ultimately, my new prayer will be that I turn into my own breed of Chubby Chaser—but I will chase the chubby girl from disrespecting the thin girl within. In doing this, I hope to find great Relief and even Reconnect with my former self-confidence.

And as for “r”—I clearly have many uses for it…just not “Mrs.” So, in that particlar use of the letter, R.I.P for now, little "r."

R.I.P for now.