Flab is everywhere, and on everyone. While I used to feel like the odd man out because I have been fat since childhood, now I’m just another member of the club. Say what you will about fat people: We’re everywhere.

In grade school, I remember that being chunky was a real disadvantage. Because I didn’t have (and still don’t) a striking, charismatic personality, I found it a lot easier to retreat into my own little world than dealing with snarky other children. In fact, I hated being a child and was deeply committed to growing up as quickly as possible. And once I was an adult, I never, ever ever wanted kids. Not that I don’t like kids now (nothing against them, actually), but I’m lucky in that I’ve always had such a clear direction about this issue. But I digress.

What I find amazing is the absolute transformation of society into accepting fat. Whereas I had a lot of trouble finding clothes to wear in the ’70s and ’80s, now there’s a whole section devoted to me at Saks. With fancy designer labels. I don’t have to buy massive mumus with appliques of poodles these days. I can buy a Dana Buchman silk and cashmere suit and be just like the thin people I’ve always envied.

Still, there’s a problem with this. I don’t look like those thin people in my fancy Dana Buchman suit. I look like a fat person who’s trying to look nice. I’m the sort of woman that “has a lovely face” and is “well-dressed” — but what people really think is that I’d look a whole lot better if I lost 60 pounds. And I’ve finally come to realize that is absolutely true.

The truth hurts.