Fat, Yoga

"You’re Not Fat"

My ass, February 2007

One of my oldest friends just sent me an e-mail in which she said those words, meaning them in the kindest possible way (and bookending them with lots of lovely compliments), but she hit a button. I’ve been wanting to write something on my hatred of those words for a long time, but I keep not getting around to it, so I’m just going to post my response to her e-mail.

Note that in the first paragraph, I’m explaining this:

which I had on the blog for a couple of weeks.


First of all, just to clear up a misunderstanding, the “candy heart” was not that, but a game piece from a vintage board game I read about on Feministing. It’s the “exciting game of career girls,” in which you move around the board until you become a teacher, actress, nurse, model, ballerina, or stewardess. That’s ALL. And obstacles in your path are things like getting a card that tells you you’re overweight.

I found the whole thing hilarious–in a “Thank GOD I was born as late as I was” sort of way–and because of the context in my head, I thought everyone would get that it was ironic. Oops.

The longer, more serious answer, though… I appreciate what you’re saying, but I do identify as fat, if you will, and it’s important for me to be able to use the word without thinking of it in terms of calling myself names. I’m at the point where I really think of “fat” as a word that’s equivalent in value to “short” or “blonde.” It just describes me. Of course there are a lot of potential interpretations of it, even as a value-neutral adjective–but the same is true of “short” and “blonde.” Next to a basketball player, you’re short; next to Peter Dinklage, I’m tall. We’re different kinds of blondes. I look chubby next to you and small next to my siblings. All those words are just, you know, a ballpark.

I can totally see how that wouldn’t be clear because A) very few people in this country think of “fat” as anything but a dirty word, and B) you knew me at my most self-loathing, self-deprecating and borderline body dysmorphic–which was, um, a LOT of the time you’ve known me–so you have good reason to assume I have a skewed view of myself and think of fat as a terrible thing. But the thing is… I really don’t anymore. I can’t say I have an absolutely perfect body image, but my god, it is WORLDS away from where it was even a few years ago. You can pretty much stop worrying about me there. For reals.

Yoga has helped with this a LOT. Amazing Yoga Teacher was commenting last week on how I have so much body awareness, which “has always made [me] really easy to teach.” And I laughed my ass off, because dude, that has ALL come in the last year of yoga; she’s revising our history pretty hard. When I started with AYT, she would tell me to engage my abs, and I’d engage everything from my upper thighs through my shoulders, because I just didn’t know where to find them. And, because of my non-verbal LD, I still have trouble with figuring out how to mimic a pose for the first time. Wait, my left arm is where, and my right foot is where? Give me a goddamn Twister map!

But I really have made incredible strides with all that stuff. I know where the vast majority of my muscles are now, so if she says, “Engage your abs,” I can do it automatically. Hell, if she says, “Engage the tiny muscles above your knees,” I can do it automatically. I have a much better sense of where everything is in space (even if I still struggle with new poses), and the muscle memory comes a lot quicker now. That blows my mind, and I’m really proud of it. But the best part of all that is, it means I’ve learned to really inhabit my body, to think of it from the inside out–literally, for the first time in my life.

For the first 31 years–or at least the last 20–I just thought of myself as a floating head, and I tried to think about my body as little as possible. When I did think about it, all the thoughts were negative, because I seriously just had no experience of my own damned body, apart from how it stacked up externally to other people’s, and how people reacted to it (or how I perceived their reactions), and how I was told by SO MANY SOURCES to feel about bodies that weren’t perfectly thin.

Now, since I’ve spent so much of the last year wearing spandex around other human beings, while focusing on how my body feels, and what it’s doing, I just have a whole different frame of reference for my body. When I’m actually present inside it, I know my body is fine–it’s strong and getting stronger, it can move into all sorts of poses, it can even do some things that look really cool. And that totally carries over when I’m off the mat.

It’s not that I’m not concerned with how I look–I’m probably more obsessed with hair and make-up and fashion than ever (you think??)–but that I am IN my body all the time. So once I’ve looked in the mirror and pronounced myself properly dressed and made-up, I walk out the door and just stop thinking about how I look–I can’t see myself anymore, so it doesn’t occur to me to wonder what other people are seeing. I’m just out in the world, being myself, being… whole. It’s a nice change. I mean, if I think about it, I still know intellectually that there are people who don’t like how I look, or what I’m wearing, but I just don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. I think I look good, and I feel good, so instead of obsessing about other people’s perceptions (and assuming the worst), I just assume people see me as I see myself… and if I’m wrong, what I don’t know can’t hurt me.

I’m sure that’s what you saw in me when you were here. I am a gazillion times more confident than the last time you saw me, because I don’t constantly have the “Everyone thinks I’m fat and ugly” tape going in my head anymore. I’d give anything to get back all the years I lost to that tape–but on the upside, at least I got rid of it by my early thirties. Plenty of people never do.

Now, about the fat thing, specifically… I’ve been meaning to sit down and write a post about the phrase “You’re not fat.” I hate it, even though I know the way you just said it was meant with nothing but love. The problem is, I’ve been hearing it all my life–at times it was a statement of fact, but more often than not, the question of my fatness was open to interpretation, and the meaning behind it was, “You’re not ten other things I associate with fat.” Coming from skinny people, it usually means, “You’re not unattractive, lazy, stupid, smelly, unhealthy, disgusting, etc.” Coming from fatter people (some of whom I’m related to), it means, “Quit whining. You don’t even KNOW what it’s like to be fat.” (And coming from anyone, for many years, I just registered it as a great, big lie, as if the person saying it thought I was too naive or idiotic to know what I looked like and what everyone thought of me.)

Either way, saying I’m not fat ignores a massive part of my life experience. When well-meaning friends say it, I want to say, “Yes, I am!” because it IS important to me to stop regarding fat as a bad word. The reality is, I’m a size 16. I shop at Lane Bryant. I’m significantly larger than most of my friends, and a bit larger than the statistical average American woman. I think BMI is utter horseshit precisely because of fun facts like this, but as of recently, my BMI officially qualifies me as obese. You’re absolutely right that I’m healthy (except for smoking), and I look good, and I have no reason to feel ashamed of my body. It’s just that those things are true, AND it’s true that I’m fat.

And when fatter people say it, it’s equally frustrating, because I have had my own experiences of discrimination, even though I know they’re nowhere near what bigger people endure.

I think maybe the best way to describe myself is “culturally fat,” the way I’m culturally Catholic. It’s seriously impossible to underestimate the role fat has played in my life from day one–because of my family; because my body exploded from scrawny to VERY curvy, practically overnight; because every friend I had in grade school ditched me in 7th grade on grounds that I was “so fat and ugly”; because I spent half of my twenties dieting, and the other half gaining it back… and a whole bunch of other reasons. When I was a size 4, I didn’t feel like a thin person. I knew I WAS thin–and yeah, people actually did treat me a hell of a lot differently–but I had a fat girl’s memories, and a fucked-up body image even then, and a fat family, and a constant awareness that statistically speaking, I would almost certainly be fat again. (My heaviest ever phase was indeed immediately after that phase.) I’ve spent about $5,000 on commercial weight loss programs and lost about 110 lbs. on them, total. And I’ve gained 100 back, total. (The amusing thing is, having kept 10 of those lbs. off over several years actually makes me a more successful dieter than, oh, 90 percent.) At this point, it really doesn’t even matter what my body looks like; I am fat and always will be, because it has colored my world so deeply–stained my world, in fact–that I’ll never be able to see myself as anything else.

So all I can do is own it. And I mean that on a lot of levels, one of which is owning that I get to decide what it means. I’ve decided it’s not bad to be fat, and it’s definitely not bad to live in my body. I’ve decided I’m pretty. I’ve decided I can try all sorts of physical things I wouldn’t have dreamed of trying, for fear of humiliation, when I was younger. I’ve decided this is who I am and the body I’ve got, so I might as well be nice to both, because it makes everything a ton easier. I’ve decided to become quietly political about fat. And I’ve decided to openly call myself fat, because it’s actually a pretty decent adjective for what I am. (I don’t like “overweight,” because… by whose standards? And “curvy” is accurate but has become a vague euphemism claimed by everyone from Salma Hayek to 300-lb. women on online dating sites. “Voluptuous” adds a sexual connotation, even if we’re talking about my body in yoga pants and one of Al’s sweatshirts, or asleep, whatever… “Fat” is actually the best of a poor lot in terms of simplicity and accuracy.)

So thank you for what you were trying to say here, and for noticing the change in me, but I’d honestly rather have you say “You’re fat AND hot and vibrant and blah blah” than say, “You’re not fat.”

And really, the important point is that my body image is fine these days… AMAZING, relative to my past, and solidly good most days. I still get bathing suit panic, but I am so much more comfortable in my skin than I have ever been, and it feels awesome, and I do believe–as you’ve confirmed–that that shows, on top of, you know, objective facts like how I have FANTASTIC FUCKING HAIR.

The point is not that I can’t get beyond thinking of myself as a fatty. The point is, yes, I am fat, actually, and IT’S OKAY. I’m awesome and attractive and I deserve love, all while being fat.

25 thoughts on “"You’re Not Fat"”

  1. Kate

    I confess I was with Spill in thinking “you’re not fat.”

    Taken out of context, the candy heart thing bothered me. I thought you were putting yourself down. But I didn’t have the gumption to say something like that to you because (A) that would be overly familiar on my part and (B) comfortable or not, you seem ─ completely understandably ─ sensitive about the subject. Heck I’m even nervous to post this comment! But here goes…

    I can’t speak for Spill but I can say that for myself, I ascribe a different meaning to the label “fat” than you do. Not having lived through all of your experiences, many of which sound transformative and ultimately very positive in nature, I still attach negative emotional connotations to the label “fat.”

    I’m reminded of that sinking feeling I got when my Dad told me I looked fat after I gained 30 pounds during my semester abroad. The implication was I was ugly and less than lovable, and it did not feel good at all. Yeah he was wrong and completely out of line. Rationally I know the error of his ways. Emotionally, though, that icky feeling persists and it’s why I felt the need to mentally reject the label for you. I prefer to think of you as one-of-a-kind Kate whose glorious attributes are too much to be summed up in a simplistic label like “fatty.”

    The good news is, you can still think of yourself as fatty Kate and I can still think of you as fabulous, lovable Kate and we’re all still thinking the same thing, I think.

  2. The good news is, you can still think of yourself as fatty Kate and I can still think of you as fabulous, lovable Kate and we’re all still thinking the same thing, I think.


    Thank you for this, fabulous, lovable Col.

  3. Oh, and…

    Emotionally, though, that icky feeling persists and it’s why I felt the need to mentally reject the label for you.

    There’s probably another post coming on this very subject, which is incredibly complicated for me. But again, thank you for being awesome you. I totally get where you’re coming from.

  4. Kate,

    This is a stellar fucking post. STELLAR!

    It is pretty amazing how different life is when you own your right to be comfortable in your body, when you stop thinking of your brain as “you” that could live happily severed from your flesh in a vat. I associate the zenith-to-date of that feeling with being in my 30s, and god, I would not go back to hating my body for all the money in the world.

    PS Are YogaToes that awesome? Because I really fucking want them.


  5. Thank you, Lillet! “[W]hen you stop thinking of your brain as ‘you’ that could live happily severed from your flesh in a vat” is such a perfect way to put it.

    And yes, yoga toes are that awesome. I saw a difference after wearing them the first time. I can now completely control EVERY toe on my right foot, and spread them all as wide as I like; left foot’s coming slower, but getting better. Makes a difference in both my practice and in my posture/how I feel.

  6. First, this needs to be published somewhere. I think it’s necessary reading for women, and although I agree with Colleen that the label “fat” still has a negative impact on me, I love that you’ve given me another option. LOVE IT.

    And second… Well, second is just, you rock.

  7. Aw, thanks you guys.

    And S., please accept my apologies for all the obnoxious weight-loss proselytizing I did in my twenties. :) Blech.

  8. First, I’m too drunk to properly process this post in the manner that it deserves. But, subject to that constraint:
    1) the average american woman is a size 14. You may be slightly above average, but that ain’t fat.
    2) Very high on the list of “things that I would like to have dropped on top of me” is your ass.
    3) If you have a body image problem, let’s both agree that the popular culture icons that dictate that women should be a size 2 or they should be invisible is fucking crap, and acknowledge that the average american woman really is a size 14. And then, in that context, let’s look at you (and, assuming we’re in company where it’s not entirely inappropriate to go “MMMMMRWOWR!”, do THAT) and agree that, by any objective determination of what constitutes ‘fat’, that you totally ain’t it.

    Now Al? Yeah, he’s totally a pudding. But you? Dude. Totally get out. You are not fat.

  9. Yeah, Huey, you pretty much missed the point, but in a highly amusing way. And, um, thank you. Also, because I don’t think there can EVER be anything bad about pudding (mmmm, pudding), I’m posting this comment, but I don’t think you meant it in a nice way, and I shall instruct Al to beat you about the head, while reminding you that he gets 24/7 access to my fine ass, because he is HOT, the next time he sees you.

    CG, back atcha.

  10. I’m a new reader and kinda late to this, but your post reminded me of some of the more unpleasant parts of my chubby childhood. As you said, “you’re not fat” is often said (by adults anyway) with good intent, even if it does imply that there’s something wrong with being fat.

    However, I’m sure I wasn’t the only fat kid in history who was fed that line as a form of manipulation by poisonous adolescent bullies. One day I’d be in favour for whatever reason, and I’d hear all sorts of platitudes, especially of the fat-denial sort. The next day I would have failed to conform in some way, so I was a fat bitch. “You’re not fat!” was a bit of bullcrap to keep misfits in line.

    Now, unsurprisingly, when people try to tell me I’m not fat, I’ll think they’re misguided at best, and liars with some awful agenda at worst. Like you, I find the phrase kinda hard coming from friends because they’re trying to help but there’s just so much yuck surrounding it.

  11. Kate,

    LOVE it! I recently had this conversation with my public speaking class. I’d mentioned my fat–as a descriptor–and one of my students protested, “Oh, don’t put yourself down!” At which point, I made it clear that I *wasn’t* putting myself down. It took me several minutes to quell the flurry of confused questions, but I think many of them finally understood.

    It was my first real act of fat acceptance activism. And it was a direct result of having found your site three days ago. So, yeah, I love you.

  12. Kate —

    First, hi — love your site, think it’s awesome, wish I could do something like it!

    I know this blogpost is old, but I had an incident with my 5-year old nephew recently that blew my mind until I read this post.

    We were having the “why are you so fat?” talk. So I gave him my standard response — “some bodies are fat and some are thin, but the important thing is to eat healthy food and exercise and be happy” to which he said — “well, you’re not fat to me.” Knowing he was trying to be nice, I gave him a hug and told him he was sweet, but honestly, I was baffled about what he meant because I weigh 320 pounds, wear size 28 – 30 clothes and am clearly fat.

    But when I read the comment in the post about what thin people mean when they say “you’re not fat,” what my nephew meant became clear. Even at 5 years old, the child has begun to associate negative things with fat people, and he’s having trouble correlating them to his aunt who he loves and thinks is great. So the easiest way for his little brain to process it is to decide that I’m not fat to him, because I’m not any of the “bad” things that he’s been told fat people are. Boy, does the prejudice start young!

  13. You are so funny, your post cracked me up, you are a survivor, you have a good sense of humor about yourself, and as long as you are healty, can exercise, and feel good, you are fine, its the assholes out there that want to bust your chopos cause they feel insecure about themselves, and at least you have curves, show them off even more wear stylish skirts too! FTW!

  14. What’s weird is the other day I did this to myself. I have been feeling so much better since finding FA – including actually looking at myself in the mirror – that when I saw an unflattering picture of myself from Saturday was shocked to realize that I’m not suddenly thin. It wasn’t a moment of oh my god, fat shame: but the part of my brain that’s been taught by me over the past 20 years that Thin Is The Happy Place was confused about how fat and happy could exist At the Same Time. “But,” said my brain, “You’re not FAT anymore!”, when what it was trying to say was “You’re not living under a heavy blanket of shame!”

  15. My boyfriend pulled the same thing your friend did a couple weeks ago. Maybe I should show him this article :)

  16. Okay, first, I love that you included a picture of your ass. Second, this is so amazingly apropos. I’m a baby FA activist and not long ago said something to a (much thinner) friend about my stupid fat ass. She heard instead “my sweet fat ass”, and replied “mmmmm, hmmmm” and then went on this riff about how all the boys loved my fat ass. I meant it as self-deprecating. She heard the exact opposite. And in that one moment, my view of my ass shifted seismically.

    This blog does the exact same thing with all my fucked up body image thoughts on a daily basis. You three (and your faithful commenters) flip the world on its head. And for that, I am grateful. Thanks, thanks, thanks. I needed this today.

  17. Hi! I’ve been lurking here for the past couple of weeks or maybe a month, and it may be odd of me to jump in on such an old thread, but, well, this is where I felt inspired to do so. Kate, this is a great, and, for me, very thought provoking post. I think I am your …mmm… in some ways reverse secret twin.

    First of all… and I have to get this part over with, because it’s making me feel nervous to write it… first of all, if you’re fat, I’m fat. I’m a few inches taller than you, but so close in weight and proportion that we could probably wear each other’s clothes. That’s a ‘twin’ part. A ‘reverse’ part is… I’m the one constantly telling myself I’m “not fat”, and, yes, using many of the …rationalizations? Euphemisms? You mention above. I am ‘voluptuous’.. ‘curvy’. Not ‘fat’.

    The word challenges me. It really does. I’ve never used it with the idea that it could apply to me… or, well, not recently. Once upon a time, I was 125 pounds, and THEN, yes, then I thought I was fat. At that weight, my weight defined my life, was a label for all my insecurity. It was my biggest problem, the biggest thing looming in my consciousness. I don’t think I was ever more than 125 in that incarnation, but I was terrifed of having the numbers creep up toward 130. Conversely, I thought that if I got below 120, I wouldn’t be ‘fat’ anymore, I wouldn’t have this problem anymore. And, eventually, through a lucky coincidence of falling in love, riding my bike eveyrwhere, and having three jobs and no time for meals, I did become 117 pounds, and then, yes, it was like an enormous weight was lifted (no pun), and I wasn’t fat anymore.

    And then, some years later, after… oh, having a baby, after my partner dying, all sorts of life changes.. I ditched the scale, gained about fifty…. 50…. five zero… still can’t believe it… pounds more or less without noticing, and then, for some odd reason, I did not feel myself to be ‘fat’. I felt less fat at 175 lbs than at 125.

    I’m still a bit confused about that, you know. Even after all the reading I’ve done here and elsewhere in the past couple of weeks.

    I think I developed a weird reverse kind of body dysmorphia. I actually thought I was smaller than I really was… unlike my previous existance where I did the more typical female thing and thought I was way bigger than I was. I don’t know. I think my … gauge… got irredeemably messed up at some point. Or maybe I just want to keep it … vague. Because then I don’t have to say that I’m fat.

    But, maybe I AM fat, maybe it is just the most accurate descriptor, and maybe it can be, in my life, a neutral term. I’m not sure. These are all just potentialities to me right now.

    A friend said something interesting to me about that one time…. she said that, maybe, all those years that I was around 120 pounds, maybe I was actually (her words) radically underweight. And maybe how I am right now is how I am ‘meant’ to be.

    I thought she was just being ridiculously, excessively supportive, and seeing me through rose-colored glasses, as she sometimes tends to do. But could she be right?

    It is true that I never ate three full meals when I was that weight. And, in fact, one time I took a nutrition class where I had to write down everything I ate, and I found myself adding things to the list that I hadn’t actually eaten, because … well, because it was ridiculous, otherwise. Ridiculously little, compared to what the nutrition charts said. That’s when I was about 130 pounds, nursing a baby, walking obsessively, and my weight was all in my boobs. I was wearing jeans my 12 year old sister had outgrown. Still, I was 130 pounds. Could I have been underweight, for me, at that weight? Is such a thing possible? That really would prove the ridiculousity of the BMI. (Oh, I’m 5″4, btw.)

    And now, after about a decade of scale-ignoring and my own brand of reverse-dysmorphia-denial, I am roughly 180 pounds, a size 14 or, lately, 16, and… well, this is what happened when I started eating …. no, not excessively, just… just the way I always wanted to eat. The way one would eat if weight wasn’t an issue. I went ahead and started doing that, at some mysterious point about ten years ago.

    So now I feel like it’s time for my brain to catch up with my body, and you all, and this blog and all the pictures and links and everything in it, are helping. But I realize I’m still more confused and mindblown than I thought I was before I started writing this silly rambling self-indulgent post.

    Am I fat? And could ‘fat’ be just my neutral descriptor word, not a problem to be solved, not a put-down, not an obstacle, just the simplest, most accurate description, the shortest path between fact and understanding?


    Oh, I had stuff to say about yoga too, but I must stop.. I’ll save it.

    Sorry if I’m being annoying. I’m just letting out some of the things that have been percolating around my spinny little mind about this. Two months ago, I had never heard of fat acceptance or HAES or any of it.

    And I wanted to say thank you. Thank you, Kate, and everyone else.

  18. One of the most confronting things I ever experienced was seeing a counsellor about weight loss. He asked why I wanted to lose weight, I relplied “Because I am fat” … he said “Well I can see that you are fat, that’s obvious, but why do you want to lose weight?”

    I felt like I’d been slapped.

    In spite of being 300 pounds it was a horrific admission for me to say I was “fat” out loud to another person, because to me I was not commenting on my size but on my worth as a human being. When he came back with “I can see you are fat” I was devestated by the thought that it was so obvious that I was such a bad, worthless person!

    It took several minutes of me shaking with shame and humiliation to realise that he meant that my size was visible, but not on it’s own an answer to the question, and that he was not commenting on my value ut seeking more information about my motivation.

    That was a realy turning point for me in how I felt about being fat: I’ve earned that it is a fair and reasonable adjective when used to describe mass/fat/size – and that the harm comes from linking this one little word to every morally and socially reprehensible stigma.

    Now I am able to say that I am fat and only be describing one aspect of my physical appearance, instead of it being a confession of every character flaw… I’m even able to identify what I don’t like about being fat (physical limitations) more honestly and specifically instead of it being a big evil blanket term for all that is less than perfect in me.

    Several years later a much happier more confident person. I lost 50 pounds, which means I am still fat, but got me back a lot of mobility.

  19. Mara, whoa, the thinking you’ve made me do.

    Despite the hugenormous strides I’ve made thanks to all of you wonderful people, if I had the choice, and someone offered me that wand and said, “we can make you 110, heck, 120, with zero negative side effects, also, you won’t have to starve yourself to maintain it the way you used to have to,” I’d take it. I’d give them an entire paycheck for it. Even if they left the slight chubbiness in my face and thighs and upper arms and would only take away my not-at-all-slightly chubby stomach, I would do it. I don’t even know if I’d hesitate.

    That was an embarrassing realization for me to come to. I still have such a long way to go. But at least I’m getting somewhere! YAY! Six months ago I’d be talking about how disgusting I am. Am I still disgusted? Yes, more often than I care to admit. But now I finally am able to understand that that is the result of social training. I as a physical being am NOT inherently disgusting.

    And now sometimes I can look in the mirror and preen, and like what I see, and tell people without irony or shame that I am pretty. I could not do that when I was socially-acceptably thin and convinced I was horribly fat, and not only that but fat was the worst thing I could be looks-wise. But I can do it now.

    To all the people who say “size 14 is average and if you’re a 14 you’re not fat (implication: you’re faking it you whiner),” I want to scream and hit my head against the wall in their general direction, and then show them a picture of me and let them decide how “NOT fat” I am. The people at work who tell me how I’m not fat when I say I am? Drives me nuts. I’m not putting myself down, I’m stating a fact. Don’t tell me you got sudden onset blindness just because I’m in this dumpy apron. My gut is completely unmistakable.

    I want to show them a full-on side-view in my undies pic, maybe even seated. My stomach, compared to the rest of me, looks like one of those Highlights “what does not belong in this picture?” puzzles. I’m five feet and an inch or two (depending on which doctor’s office measures me) and not built particularly heavy. Yeah, a size 14 that sits mostly on one’s tummy is pretty freaking fat at that height and build. My body is not put together in a shape that warrants accolades or hell, even an acceptance pass, let alone clothes that fit.

    But I want to yell at the whole world (including me) to GET OVER IT. It’s harder when people keep denying it to me like that, as if my experience as a fat person is invalid. Or, like some of the people in my family, who act like it’s such a huge deal and something bad that I MUST FIX AS I AM BROKEN. Either way, it treats my fat like something of great shame. I wish it could just be something that IS, with no qualifiers. Not “you’re fat BUT,” or “you’re fat AND,” just, “you’re fat.” No. Big. Deal.

    Maybe someday we’ll get there. Maybe someday.

    In the meantime, this is literally the ONLY place I can go where anyone but me wants that or even remotely understands that.

  20. SHOOT. That whole thing was supposed to go on the OTHER post… crud.

    That’s what I get for having multiple tabs open… sorry… should I cross post it to the place it’s supposed to go?!

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