Today as I walked into work, I noticed a woman a few yards ahead collecting donations for Relay For Life. She donned the full-throttle anti-cancer regalia–shirt, cap and flair–though I’m not sure what pro-cancer regalia would be, maybe a big tumor, smoking a cigarette and wearing a shirt reading “ALL UR ORGANZ R BELONG TO US“?
As I neared her, I entered the zone where the petitioner has to scope out potential donations or signatures and make the move. Our eyes met and I wasn’t sure if I could really say, “No, I’m in a hurry,” because by saying I’m too busy for cancer is just asking for a huge cheek carbuncle to grow and stretch my facial features so much that I’ll have the profile of the Jack in the Box guy. But before I could mumble an excuse, she gave me the nano-second size up and turned around like I wasn’t even there.
Dissed! Again! Then I realized why she didn’t want to ask me for a donation. She saw me and figured, she’s too fat. How could she even walk in the Relay for Life when just thinking about walking makes her tired. She probably has to iron her clothes on a hot boat.
But am I really too fat to help fight against cancer?
I’ll probably have to get signatures for my own cause: Race for a Cured Ham.