Perhaps we’re dreaming big, but Ashley and I are hoping to have our wedding in Hawai’i. Like many women, she’s been planning her wedding for a long, long time; but, unlike many women she’s aware that the wedding she’s been dreaming of since like age eight is probably financially prohibitive. So if you’re paying attention you realize this means that one of my first acts as a betrothed man has been to deny my future wife the wedding of her dreams. Please don’t judge me too much.
But she likes the idea of a beach wedding and she likes Hawai’i, having been there years ago when the Make-A-Wish Foundation granted her wish. Her parents are members of the Disney Vacation Club, which is opening a resort in Hawai’i very soon, and this will somewhat mediate the expense of the whole thing.
Earlier this week, while we were on the phone with one of the resort’s reps, Ashley asked about the availability of certain activities. Things like surfing, snorkeling, hiking, wind-surfing, and parasailing. Never mind that when she’s talking about hiking she means hiking up a volcano and that I’ve long run under the assumption that my own personal life-expectancy would be greatly enhanced if I remain safely distant from any and all volcanoes, my idea of enjoying Hawai’i is more like sitting on a beach and reading on my Kindle. Even swimming in the ocean is questionable for me due to a similar belief re: life-expectancy and shark-infested waters. Not one of those other activities had crossed my mind until she mentioned them.
Yet, this is our wedding we’re talking about here. And the honeymoon. I feel it incumbent upon me to indulge her desire for these activities. And, for good or ill, Ashley’s enjoyment of pretty much activity is enhanced greatly if I join her in said activity.
My biggest public inhibitions don’t revolve around a fear of failure or of looking like a fool. I don’t care terribly much about either, nor do I care enough about other people’s (especially strangers’) opinions of me. What I do care about is looking like a really fat failure and/or fool.
There’s a stigma about fat men: we tend to be unclean, we tend to sweat, we tend to kidnap children and do things that no one wants to talk about except for the folks over at the Today show. And plus also: we have rolls. And man-boobs. We are something to laugh at when we fall, when we fail, when we look like fools. I am intensely aware of this stigma every time I begin to sweat because there’s nothing more disgusting than a sweaty fat guy.
In everyday life I dress and maintain myself in such a way as to avoid the notice of these things. I wear 4X shirts not because I need to but because they hide certain shall we call them contourous features of my own personal anatomy. I wear hats and sometimes bandanas to absorb the sweat. I never look at anyone’s kid longer than two seconds unless that kid is talking to me and the parent is someone I know. And I never take my shirt of in public. So yes, earlier when I talked about reading on the beach, I meant while wearing a shirt – probably a really large Hawaiian shirt, which I usually avoid because there’s also a big-dude-in-Hawaiian-shirt cliché/stigma, but well, when in Rome…
That’s all well and good when you’re just sitting on a beach. But snorkeling I’m pretty sure requires shirtlessness. And surfing not just shirtlessness but a certain Matthew-McConaughey build that I’ll never attain anyway but still.
More to the point, though: I’m pretty sure things like wind-surfing and parasailing are next to impossible for a dude over 300 lbs. There’s simply no way to generate enough lift without at least a category three hurricane or a speed boat with a V-12 Ferrari engine in it plus also a Batmobile-type rear-jet-propulsion thing that somehow never melts the macadam or sets litter ablaze not to mention homeless vagrants gawking.
So but anyway: it seems the best part about planning a wedding for October 2012 is that yours truly has what one would think is plenty of time to shed some serious poundage. And also ideally rolls and man-boobs, but I’m not going to expect too much.