You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl

by Rivenbark, Celia

  Princess:

  Me: “Or you can stay home with Daddy and me and we’ll watch the Andy Griffith Show marathon and pop some corn. It’ll be just as much fun as being with your friends!”

  Princess: “But I have to go! Everyone else is going! I will physically die if I don’t go!”

  Uh-huh. Although I know I’m right about this, it’s not productive to point out that no one has ever died from not seeing a Johnny Depp movie on the night it opens.

  After earning the movie money, there will much angst about What to Wear. Clothes will be pulled off hangers and out of drawers and heaped onto bed and floor before the inevitable wailing.

  “I have no clothes,” she will say quietly and simply. “None at all. Not. One. Thing.”

  At this point, I’ve learned it’s not a great idea to point out that, through different combinations and pairings, there are, mathematically speaking, at least 422 possible outfits littering her room, which now looks as though Anthropologie has had a terrible stomach ache and thrown up all over everything.

  Cautiously, I pick up a pair of jeans and a cute top from Urban Outfitters. “What about this?”

  The Princess gasps. “Oh! I didn’t even see that. Thanks, Mommie!”

  Logic has no place in these occasional thunderstorm conversations which, as quickly as they arrive, drift out on a Clearasil sea, and she returns, rather like the adorable Regan in The Exorcist after an “episode,” with childlike playfulness and affection. Nope, I’m not going to have to summon two priests to the house. Yet.

  I feel a little sorry for Duh because he is trapped between two females, both affected by occasional swings of hormonal havoc, and there’s really nothing he can do except excuse himself to go “oil the lawnmower,” which is unnecessary in January and smacks of snipe-hunting, if you ask me.

  The boy/girl stuff is comical but the girl/girl stuff? Not so much. As any parent of a middle-school girl knows, it’s possible to be “besties” and “BFFs” with a girl on Wednesday and mortal enemies with her by Friday.

  Happens all the time.

  In fact, everything happens so much faster now because friends are recruited, courted, and dropped via text or Facebook in a matter of minutes.

  I refrain from telling the Princess how it was back in the day when we simply relied on passed notes, which seldom made it to their destination but almost always ended up in the teacher’s hands. She would sigh at the note’s contents, look heavenward and tear it into confetti. No box would be checked “yes” or “no” on matters of utmost importance.

  It hurts to be dropped by a friend, and hurts exponentially to be dropped by a pack of ’em. You don’t ever really forget that and, if it happens, it’s important to take inspiration from whatever role model can offer the most wisdom. In my case, it was a certain prom queen named Carrie.

  In the Princess’ “posse,” there is constant drama, most of it exceedingly silly and, mercifully, patched up by the end of the day. In the meantime, however, there can be tears and recriminations worthy of a Telemundo soap opera.

  Verdad that.

  Although the technology makes everything faster and more poorly spelled, nothing is really all that different than when I was thirteen.

  “Ayden didn’t sit with me at lunch because she said that she heard that I said that she was sexting some eighth-grade guy that I don’t even know,” said a despondent Princess one day.

  Sexting? sexting???????

  I told myself to breathe deeply. What would Carrie do? No, I mean what would a rational, calm super parent do? Who can I channel for something this important? Who????”

  Because I get most of my mad parenting skills from watching TV, I decided to use a multifaceted approach from some of the characters we’ve already discussed here.

  Kate Gosselin: “Sexting? I believe I need this boy’s name and his parents’ phone number and I need it yesterday. Do I think he’d be willing to go on my talk show? Yes, I do. I hope so, anyway. It’s sweeps month and I need something besides complaining about how much I hate media attention. Somebody call my publicist.”

  Oprah: “Sexting? Is that like the time Stedman emailed me to ask what I was wearing? Of course it turned out that was just so we wouldn’t clash on the red carpet … .”

  Dr. Phil: “Sexting? How’s that workin’ for you? Huh? I don’t know, I just like asking that. I’m pretty much a doofus. Tennis?”

  Betty Draper: “Sexting? Young lady, bring me the Lifebuoy this minute. Good. Now open your mouth and do not move until your father comes home. A week from Thursday.”

  The Neelys: “Sexting? Mmmmm. That sounds naisty! We’re in!”

  My go-to cast of characters was clearly not going to be any help. So I sat down and talked. I talked for a very long time, lovingly and calmly, about all the perils out there and how it will take a strong moral core to deal with them. Throughout, the Princess smiled and nodded and seemed to be taking it all in. Yes, I was parent of the year, brimming with warmth and wisdom.

  And then, she flipped back her hair and I saw the little earbuds. She had been listening to her iPod the whole time!

  Utterly defeated, I motioned to her to take out her earbuds.

  “Did you hear anything I said?” I asked her, feeling incredibly foolish.

  “Hmmm?” she asked, giving me an odd little grin. “Not a word.” I turned to leave and got all the way to the door before I heard her say, very softly, “And thanks.”

  Also by Celia Rivenbark

  You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Morning

  Belle Weather

  Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank

  We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier

  Bless Your Heart, Tramp

  Praise for You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Morning

  “Whether readers are from the south side of Baw-ston or living just south of the Mississippi, Rivenbark’s genuine Southern recipes and true Southern charm are sure to appeal to everyone.”

  —Encore Archives

  “Many of her descriptions are not only LOL funny, they also demand reading aloud to whomever happens to be nearby.”

  —Myrtle Beach Sun-News

  “Rivenbark is more than funny, she’s Carolina funny.”

  —The Charlotte Observer

  “Her fans can also expect to enjoy her usual tangy style of humor … the book is what it is, and it’s all good.”

  —The Fayetteville Observer

  Praise for Belle Weather

  “Readers will laugh out loud over her commentary on status mothers and all the odd obsessions of modern life.”

  —Booklist

  “Think Dave Barry with a female point of view.”

  —USA Today

  Praise for Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank

  “This is a hilarious read, perhaps best enjoyed while eating Krispy Kremes with a few girlfriends.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “She kills in the ‘Kids’ and ‘Southern-Style Silliness’ sections, putting the fear of Mickey into anyone planning a trip to Disney World (character breakfasts must be scheduled 90 days in advance) and extolling the entertainment value of obituaries (‘If there’s a nickname in quotes, say Red Eye, Tip Top, or simply, Zeke, then my entire day is made’).”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  Praise for We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier

  “Will give you a case of the giggles.”

  —New York Daily News

  “Warm, witty, and wise, rather like reading dispatches from a friend who uses e-mail and still writes letters, in ink, on good paper.”

  —St. Petersburg Times

  Praise for Bless Your Heart, Tramp

  “Bright, witty, and warm … stories that make a desperate gift-giver weep glad tears of relief … a pleasing blend of spice, humor, and memories.”

  —St. Petersburg Times

  “Celia Rivenbark has the goods and then some. She makes you
laugh out loud dozens of times. Anyone who has the moxie to toss off a piece titled ‘Fake Dog Testicles’ will tread into the wildest stretches of comedic terrain.”

  —The State (Columbia, S.C.)

  Acknowledgments

  Every encouraging word, shared memory, and funny story has powered me up and onward and I am truly grateful to a slew of wonderful folks for sustaining and inspiring me in more ways than I can count. They include: Luleen Anderson, Bob Bauman, Leon Brown, Lucy Bell, Nathan Bell, Diane Minshew, Debbie Houlditch, Beth Blackwell, Joe and Mary Ellen Bonczyk (the perfect couple, for real), Todd Depriest, John Bell, Rachel Jones, Mary Seelye, David and Renee Zukerman, Kara Chiles Sirmans, “Cracker Queen” Lauretta Hannon, Susan Reinhardt, Kathy Patrick, Ronda Rich, Jill Conner Browne, Jim and Rhonda Desmond, Danna Moles, Deborah Goodman, the incomparable Gina White Francis, David and Julie Fredericksen, Wayne Jackson, Lynn Manock, Brenda Hankins, “positive, encouraging” Kelly Jefferson, E.T. Rooks, David Willard, David High, Martha Raynor, Jim and Denise Jones, Leila Viteskic, Neil Purdy, Pam Reade, Nancy Smith, Frank Stasio, Kinah Lindsey, Jo Tilghman, Brooks Preik, Angela Carr, Wanda Jewell, Nicki Leone, Cathy Stanley, Nancy Olson, Rene Martin, Ben Steelman, John Staton, Jeff Hidek, Cheryl Whitaker, Barb Ellis, Betty Ann Sanders, Randy (“Mr. Southport”) Jones, Shirley and Woody Wilson, Linda Lavin, Wayne Jackson, Beth Perry, Hilarie Burton, Linda Patton, Kathleen Jewel, Ken Wells, Brad White, Verna Jordan, Keri Hooks, Bill Bartow, Catherine Perry, Elizabeth Redenbaugh, Shelly Hobson, Julia and Kelly Jewell, Laura Mitchell, Jim and Jeannie Skane, Tim and Pam Russell, Gray Wells, Pam Sander, Angela Stilley, Page Rutledge, Fran Mehurg, Tish Baker, Dana Sachs, Lisa and Mike Seifert, Teresa Hill, the fabulous twin muses of Lisa Noecker and Amy Mackay, Jemila Erickson, Nan Graham, the entire staff of public radio station WHQR-FM, Jana Moore, Debbi Pratt, Michelle Powell, Susan Pleasants, Burke Speaker, Banyan Restaurant, Jean Lee and Shirley, Jim Walker, Karel Dutton, Nancy Smith, Gary, Renee and Madison Barrett, Nancy Hosea, Bess Shadrach, the Halterman Family, Clyde Edgerton, Jill McCorkle, Laurie Notaro, Haven Kimmel, Hollis Gillispie, John Boy and Billy, Lee Smith, P.D. and Carol Midgette, Jimmy Bowden, Trey Wyatt, the 2009 UNC Men’s Basketball Team, Caroline Rivenbark, Nancy Whisnant, and all the assorted Rivenbarks and Whisnants, St. Martin’s Press’s amazing Jennifer Enderlin, John Karle, Sara Goodman, and Monica Katz, and “Tenacious J.,” Jenny Bent of The Bent Agency.

  Every single one of you has, as the kids say, “done me a solid” (some have done many, many solids) at some time in your life and I want you to know how much I appreciate it. A few of you may not even remember it, but I do. And I’m grateful.

  To my husband, Scott Whisnant, let me just say that I’d let fake Vegas Elvis marry us again every day for eternity because you are that awesome. And also because I really like hearing him sing. And to my precious Princess, Sophie Caroline Whisnant, darling, if you read this, try to ignore all the cuss words. Mommie feels marginally nervous and guilty about them, although you’d never be able to tell. Because, as you know, I don’t sweat much for a fat girl.

  Celia Rivenbark

  Wilmington, North Carolina

  YOU DON’T SWEAT MUCH FOR A FAT GIRL. Copyright © 2011 by Celia Rivenbark. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  eISBN 9781429984522

  First eBook Edition : July 2011

  First Edition: August 2011