Immediately, paranoia grabbed me by the double chin and screamed: "She just saw that half gallon of Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate Ice Cream go down the belt and she can't believe someone as fat as you has the nerve to buy that and eat the whole thing yourself!"
Truth is, I'd been staring at the ice cream, vowing not to eat a single serving and wondering why my insensative Honey had chosen to put it in the cart to begin with. I projected my thoughts onto the lady in front of me, assuming that she was judging me for my purchase. I hate to admit it, but there was an impulse there to try to explain why I was buying that delicious carton of cream, fatty temptation; that it wasn't for me, that I wasn't even going to taste it.
A moment later, she turned around again, evil glare afixed. Just as I was about to punch her in the nose and shout that it was none of her business if I ate the whole durn thing, she cocked her head to one side, looked right past me and started to talk to a man, her husband I suppose, who was handing her some item that he had gone back to get.
She hadn't been giving me a dirty look at all. She'd been looking for her hubby and the - a-HEM - package of COOKIES he'd gone back to get! *facepalm* I'd been a victim of Fatty Paranoia yet again.
Someday maybe I'll learn that people aren't looking at my ample rear end thinking about how desperately I need to diet, they are probably just as concerned that someone is looking at their ample rear end thinking about how desperately they need to diet.
What I should have done last night was give that lady a big smile and plan to measure out a half cup of that ice cream and track it as soon as I got home!
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