So after 12 days in Vegas my experience of Americans and fat me have varied greatly.
In preparation for my trip to the Capitol of fairy lights I got myself some sparkly fake nails, a wardrobe of 50s style dresses and some comfy ass sketchers pumps and flip flops.
I have to say my experience has been mostly positive. I have been complimented on my outfits at least once a day. And my sparkly nails? A complete hit!
However, what has stuck with me most is the rudeness of some of the other visitors to sin city.
I was called a pig by a French woman as she proceeded to commence a diatribe in French used me as an example to her two young daughters as to what a woman shouldn’t be. Luckily, or not so I have rudimentary French so I could understand and react so that she knew I understood. So many things wrong in that encounter I don’t even know where to begin.
Secondly I was called a whore by a slightly tipsy Texan. His assumption was that as a busty (and large, as he pointed out) woman in a low cut rockabilly dress dress I would be lucky to get a partner that would pay. Never mind one who would actually want me.
But finally the one that hurt the most? The final night I dressed up in the lovely blue and white number below, my trusty black sketcher pumps and my best string of pearls.
Not to forget my grandmas vintage blue net purse and best lippy. In the lift on the way down to the casino I was feeling good, standing tall. However, a woman in a silk short and blouse set took a long appraising look. From my shoes to my legs to my dress to my cover up and bag to my hair and makeup. She smirked at me and then turned to face her husband and suppressed a laugh whilst nodding in my direction. This was so obvious and callous even my oblivious husband went into caveman mode and almost challenged them to a fight.
Whilst the last of these was the least confrontational as such it hurt the most and stuck with me the most. The calm calculated manner and the way in which she looked me in the eye as she smirked was just plain mean. Nothing else. I wish I could say I shrugged this off and didn’t let it affect my night, but it did. I found myself sitting that bit straighter and sucking my tummy in, using my cover up to disguise my width as I sat down.
So as I sit in my hotel the night before flying home to reality I have to ask myself, why did these people think it was okay to make these comments? Is it nationality? Difference in manners? Too many drinks? Either way I cannot deny that they affected me far more than I would have liked. Let’s just hope what happens in Vegas truly does stay in Vegas.
Now excuse me whilst I go enjoy my last cocktail… On the house of course!