I am fat. Now, before you jump in and tell me that I am not fat, that I am beautiful, let me reiterate that I am fat, but I am also beautiful, brave and funny (sometimes).

And I am in love — head over heels, stupid in love — with my boyfriend, and he loves me too. Not only does he love me, but he treats me like a princess. He supports me in all of my endeavors, and loves me at my worst, just as much as he loves me at my best. I am blessed to be able to call him my own, and I cherish every laugh, memory, and even argument that we have. While this may sound like any normal relationship, and to Shawn, my boyfriend, and I, it is, to others our relationship is a bit of an oddity because Shawn is hot.

From a young age, it was instilled in my mind that in order to be beautiful and to be desirable to the opposite sex, I had to be molded into this ideal woman so that I would in turn find my perfect match. I was to be soft-spoken, a good cook, a good listener, and I was to have the perfect hourglass figure because that’s what men wanted in a woman, and that’s what would make me the perfect wife. Yet in a Sicilian household, where food was the center of all occasions, I was more interested in the meatballs than I was about landing the perfect husband, and being a soft-spoken chef just wasn’t my idea of a good time.

I wanted to talk about science, traveling, and the latest movies, and cuss like a sailor, but most of all, I wanted to be liked for more than just my body, and if that meant I wasn’t going to be desired by the opposite sex, then so be it. At least I would be me.

I liked being me, and other people liked me. My body was never an issue for them because I was more than just a pretty face and a few extra pounds. I soon realized that others were often caught off guard by my relationships, and the questions would inevitably start flying.

We have all been there — you are talking to new people, whether it be at a new job, new school, or party; the conversation finds its way to the usual small talk and pictures of your pets, kids, etc. For me, it always led to talking about my relationship, and how Shawn and I were literally a street away from each other for years, and worked at the same summer job just at different times, and never met until that fateful day at our job. I’ll pull out my phone and scan through the pictures, smiling and showing whoever I am talking to a picture of Shawn, and then I am met with the same three questions seven out of ten times.

“That’s your boyfriend?”

Yes. This 6’5” man is my boyfriend. I know it may seem strange that someone of his caliber could want to be seen with someone like me, but I assure you, I have not paid him to make public appearances with me. He on his own sought me out and asked me to be his girlfriend.

Shocking, I know.

“Does he have a thing for, ya know, bigger girls?”

No. He does not have a thing for bigger girls. In fact, I am the first plus-sized girl he has ever dated. He does, however, have a thing for beautiful women with good heads on their shoulders and sparkling personalities.

“Were you thinner when you started dating? I got so comfortable with my boyfriend that I gained 15 pounds!”

No. I was actually much heavier when we started dating. I actually started to lose weight during the relationship because I was a little too heavy for my own health and liking, so we as a couple decided to adopt a healthier lifestyle. We still eat pizza and Chinese, and have yet to give up the pretzel bites at the movies, but we have come a long way.

While these questions may seem outlandish, and incredibly rude — and they are — they happen to me more often than not. Every time I get asked one of these questions, or a variation of such, I feel like as far as I have come in life, and even with all I have to offer to the world, I am still, and will always be, nothing more than a number on the scale. I live in a society that tells me I have a beautiful face, but I would be so much prettier if I lost weight. A society that deems me unhealthy, an uncontrollable eater that eats nothing but fast food and junk food, when, in reality, I eat organic fruits and veggies and meat from animals that were allowed to roam freely and killed humanely. I don’t even like fast food.

I live in a society where my weight is more important than my worth, and when someone comes along and shows me that I am worthy of love and romance and all the things story books are made of, that it must be a ruse because surely that man cannot be my boyfriend. But he is. And despite my “flaws” and my stubbornness, and my inability to stop cussing, he loves me for me, unconditionally. So if the worst thing I can be in life is fat, then I am already winning.