My class is pretty small. Small even as med schools go. We have about 100 people in our class and we spend every... waking... moment with each other. We go to class together, we live together, we go out together, we see everyone everywhere so naturally, everyone is up in everyone else's business.
It's not surprising then to realize there are rumors and there is gossip, oh my is there gossip, and when something interesting crops up, it is spread like wild fire and molded like puddy.
Long time readers may recall Smarty Pants Boyfriend. Well, he and I broke up. That's all I want to say about that.
That is not, evidently, all that my classmates wanted to say about it. Oh no. Oh no no no.
Friday night we had a class wide fiesta at a bar in Soho to celebrate the glorious, GLORIOUS end of the neuro course. There was an open bar and the booze was plentiful. So yeah. Take top shelf liquor that flowed like the salmon of Capistrano plus socially inept, repressed, metaphorical high schoolers who've been in a stressed state for upwards of three solid weeks? I'm confident you can imagine the ensuing sloppiness. If not, just go to a frat house on any college campus the first week of freshman orientation.
Druken babble here, a few inappropriate butt slaps there, massively inappropriate grinding on one another, yadda yadda yadda. I actually had my wits about me. After fighting my way through the stupid Leaping Thrice Exam I wasn't in the mood to fight anymore and elbow my way through the open bar line. I was fairly sold on the idea of just going home to bed, but stayed to make sure my friends didn't get fertilized on the dance floor.
So anyway, I was lucid. Lucid enough to remember this entire conversation.
Classmate X sidles up to me. He asks how I'm doing, what I'm drinking, how the exam went and oh, if he can ask me something about my break-up.
He makes me promise not to get mad at him and to realize that he is only repeating what he heard, he wants to make it clear this is a don't shoot the messenger situation.
He says no REALLY, don't get MAD, he is just the MESSENGER, he just HEARD something.
He asks if it's true that my boyfriend broke up with me because I gained too much weight.
I'm immobilized for a minute until I ask for clarification. He heard what now?
He heard that my boyfriend dumped me because I got fat.
I ask where he heard that from.
He lists four or five people (FOUR or FIVE PEOPLE. GOOD LORD. WTF Y'ALL?) who read like a "Who's who" of People I Never Talk To. And pretty much are some of the last people who I would go running to tell the gory details of a break-up let alone... I don't know, ANYTHING.
So I firmly say no, no that's not true but uh, hey thanks for giving me one more thing to be insecure about. BECAUSE MY LIST REALLY NEEDED AN UPDATE. It's not like I'm in a fragile state about it or might have my own issues with my weight or I don't know, am capable of human emotion or anything.
Who ASKS that? I mean... HONESTLY?
There were only two ways that conversation could go:
1) I would affirm the rumor as truth and then uhhh yeah... you're the asshole who brought up what was probably not exactly something I like to revisit, so don't be surprised when I send you my Hostess cupcake bill, ASS.
2) I would negate the rumor as the falsehood it is and then you're the jerk who made me realize that PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT WEIGHT I'VE GAINED THAT IS EVIDENTLY SO HEINOUS IT'S A BELIEVABLE POINT OF CONTENTION.
Sooooo yeah. Anyway. That was fun. Good thing I had this paper to write to band-aid my self-esteem. OH WAIT.