It Never Ends

I pay $1000.00 per class to attend a prestigious private university.

I am midway through a Master's degree and have a 4.0 grade point average that I intend to keep for the duration.

I have over 17 years experience at adulthood and I own and operate my own house, car, career, and life.

Yet still, the other day, I felt mortified and 12 all over again.

In this particular class, there are those writing-surface-fused-to-an-uncomfortable-chair type desks that thin people don't think twice about sitting in. I, however, have gone through a past period of hugeness where I could just barely wedge between the chair back and the writing surface edge. Happily, now I can fit without too much problem, though I still marvel at the 6 to 8 inches of gut-to-desk space that most people have in those.

Anyway, so the professor has this brilliant idea to play a game for an exam review (I know, wtf, it's grad school, I was thinking the very same thing). She decides that rather than raising our hands to answer, that we should leap from our seats, and that the leaping should rotate within teams. We also had various documents where we had to locate the answers to her questions, so if you held the right paper, it was your turn to leap.

Well, anyone would be hard pressed to find something I'd like less than leaping out of my God-blessed seat to answer a damned question like some ADHD kid on a Nickelodeon game show. Can I answer the question? Certainly. Give me parchment and quill and I shall craft you an essay of style and beauty. But vaulting from a desk meant for mere sitting and listening? Nay, madam, nay. For if I cavort in so wild a fashion from this imprisoning credenza, it shall fly in tandem with my quivering excess of flesh, and the both of us shall tumble and clatter in an unattractive heap to the flagstones.

So even though I knew a bunch of answers, by the time I passed it on to some other member of my team to do the fucking leaping, some other skinny bitch from another team had bounced up and gotten the point. So we lost. And we had a stupid fruity name (The Kiwis? Jesus.). AND the teacher taunted us further, saying she wanted "some other people" to stand up and answer (meaning you, fat girl).

I mean, fuck, why don't we just have the fucking pull-up contest again where I could only do one, EVER. Why don't we just all run a freakin' lap around the building so I can gulp air and be last? Or how about the President's Phucking Physical Phitness Test where my assigned "jr. personal trainer" partner is thinking, "Gawwd! Come onnnn!" because I do slow, sloppy, situps, slamming the small of my back to the stinky gym floor in an effort to lever my upper body off of it?

I thought by the time I got to the 17th or 18th grade, all this parade of physical embarrassment stuff would be over. I guess maybe it never is, until you get un-fat. It's discrimination, I tell you.

Still, I pulled an A in that class, so I guess my BRAIN weighs a lot TOO.