Fat Fuck Pervert, and just desserts Hi folks, So I was out last night and crashed in a friend's after having one glass too many of wine (recently went from 121 pounds to 115 from increasing my climbing and cutting out any processed food, so still figuring out my drinking limit, it's been interesting), anyway, got up at 9am and headed back to the city centre. Popped onto the Luas (think of the San Fran trams or European Metro line), and after letting some older women on (my Momma taught me manners!), the only seat available was opposite a bleary eyed, puffy pig.   He was drinking coffee, and had intentionally put the lid on the seat opposite him. The one I intended to take. So he sees me, looks me up and down slowly (the weight loss has been kind to my features, but ew), and moves the lid.  I nod a thanks and pop onto the seat, briskly rubbing my arms to get some heat back in.  Hammy looks at me again, and once he catches my eye, mumbles something. Still warming myself up and not having heard him, I tilt my head to the side in a 'pardon me?' gesture. Hammy gur-fumps to clear the phlegm from his fat and dairy encased throat and repeats "They say wise women are always cold." Oh great, a marginally crazy fat. Me: "Excuse me?" Fatty: "You know? They say wise women are always cold." Me: (trying to be friendly as I have no idea what he's talking about, courteously smile) "Thank you...?" Fatty: "They say that because it's always the wise women who aren't wearing enough clothing." And then phlegm laugh coughs at his asshole joke. I felt like I was slapped. I looked at him (as the other people, because fatties don't understand how to use indoor or public transport voices), and then pointedly looked at my clothes. Clothes that consisted of black denim skinny jeans, a tank top, a layer long sleeve, a man's hoodie and my leather nipped in bomber jacket. And my woollen infinity scarf. And my double layered gloves, I couldn't look at my wool hat considering it was on my head.... Me: "I don't really know why you said that?"  (Other people on the Luas look around for their popcorn to watch the drama unfolding in front of them. The elderly ladies I had let to ahead of me are staring, one has her mouth open in a wide '0') Fatty realises how fucking weird his comment is and tries to back track. Fatty: "I mean, not that you are wearing anything revealing, just not enough." Me: "..." Fatty: (getting a bit frantic now as I've suddenly become Eliza from Frozen, not even trying to deactivate my resting bitch face), "like you're too skinny. I mean! You need to wear more things, cover up... a bit." He croaked weakly by the end. (The older ladies look at me, like this is Wimbledon and the ball's in my court) Me: "I think I'm wearing enough to be honest, I'm completely covered. It's cold and I'm a little bit hung over." (Trying to help him get off the hook, I don't like seeing piggies sweat. Especially if they're in front of me and I can smell them. -shudder-). Before I have even finished talking, he jumps on the end of my sentence like it's the last chocolate bar in the world. His fat fuck eyes filled with glee, and incredulity.  Fatty: "too much vodka?" Me: "what?" Fatty: "did you have too much vodka?" Me: ".... No? I had a bit of wine." (My patience is starting to wear thin teehee) Fatty: (looking amazed), "what? 2 small glasses?"  At this point I wanted to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, but I don't like to swear, especially in front of polite people like the old ladies from earlier. Me: "I really don't see how that's any of your business." (Polite edge to my voice. Like a dog when it's letting you know to back off, that it's giving you a chance. Of course Mr. Oink is totally oblivious and carries on) Fatty: "but wine has so many calories. And sugar" (I pointedly look at his swollen gut hanging out and spilling onto his swollen thighs, his shirt straining to keep itself together, the poor buttons given a Herculean task of trying to uphold common decency and not traumatise innocent civilians. He ignores my look) "I mean. You look good. Really... Good" and looks at me slowly again, like I'm a triple Decker burger he's trying to figure out the physics of tasting (OMG kill me! Fatty is totally making a mental note to use my image for his wank bank! I want to fucking vomit! Ew fucking ew ew, Christ fuck I can't believe this!)  Enough!!!!  I cut him off "that's very very inappropriate."  Passengers are staring now, some of them realising too. He puts a coffee foam covered paw on his buckling knee and leans back, drinking me in like I'm an Oreo Malt. His nostrils upturned slightly, I can see the forest of hair nestled in, sneaking out to explore the realm of his blotchy upper lip. He has a small rat's amount of fur shoved into each snotty cavity of his snout. The hairs compete for air and mucous and left over food. I want to smack him. Fatty, smirking: "I meant no harm, it's a com-"  Before he can get the rest of the word out, his phone rings. The audience release their breathe, the climax has been deferred. The anticipation is palpable. Fatty pervert fuck, putting on a more grown voice: "May the force be with you" (cringe) "That is a good question, yes." "Well. I don't know actually." "Ugh. Fucking tourists. Fine. (Putting on a Jamaican accent -he's in his 40s!), Peace mawn". Phone put away, he immediately starts into a tirade about his boss. And of course, his boss is a "skinny person". Of fucking course. At this point my anger is abating as I start to think of the chances to shit lord this load of lard. Fat bastard hairy piece of snot and shit: "he's doing this BULLSHIT (he screams the word suddenly, heads snap over to our direction) thing, operation transformation. You know that shit, right?" (Before I can answer, he continues), "like he's one of those 'skinny people' (disdain dripping from his fat sagged cappuccino stained mouth, the disgust of having to say 'skinny' is like he's eaten a raisin or piece of broccoli), "guy can eat whatever and he's a stick. He's organising our work party and we're going to some 'healthy' (there's that hate again, more broccoli!) Place on the Southside. We were chatting on Facebook in the event page yesterday. I tagged him on this really funny photo saying it's a good recipe for him to try seeing as he wants to lose weight." He laughs for a moment, like he stole sweets from a child, I'm impressed he wasn't coughing tbh. "It was SO funny. The recipe? You know what it was? It was a picture of ice. Ice. ICE!!!" Screaming it in case I didn't hear him the first 2 times. I wait a moment, is he finished? Apparently. Me: quietly, "that's not funny." His laughter stops abruptly. He blinks in confusion. Stares at me uncomprehendingly  Me: "You're actively ridiculing your boss." I lock eyes with him. I know the old ladies are listening to every word, as it a black guy and another Irish lad who have watched this while sorry saga from the start. I hold his gaze. All patience gone. No more sweet little girl act. Here comes the shit lady. Me: "A person you know is actively making changes to improve their quality of life and you choose to mock them? And he's your boss? That photo isn't funny. It's disrespectful, and very rude. Your boss must be a very patient man. You're lucky to have someone like that as your employer." He goes to interrupt me. I push on, still indoor voice, but loud enough for our intimate audience. You called him naturally skinny and then say he's doing operation transformation? It sounds like he's actually just an intelligent person that understands how calories and weight work. Even if he IS naturally 'skinny' (I impersonate his hate voice there), he's actively improving his health, not just his appearance. It's nasty that you are trying to undermine someone's hard work. Especially the person who is paying for your work dinner that you complained about?" (I pause for a second, for mild dramatic effect), "I'm surprised you'd insult a person who's giving you free food." The silence. The old ladies stare at me. Did I just? They look at each other, did she just? They look at fat fucking pervert shit bag, as he just sits there stunned. "Anyway this is my stop. Enjoy your free meal tomorrow". I chanced a glance at the old ladies. I think they'll be having a great time telling that stories to their friends this weekend. Gave them a sweet smile and hopped off the Luas as Fatty remained stunned in his seat. Guys. The feeling was phenomenal. I do feel some guilt but I'm killing any tendrils of it as I'm pretty sure the fat bastard is going to brutalise me sexually in his fantasies tonight as revenge.  I can't stop him being a disgusting desperate piece of shit, but I hopefully he'll learn about CICO or to respect his boss.