Chapter 1

*This post is written in the style of a reddit 'Am I The Asshole' Post, a forum where people can get advice from strangers about whether they were in the wrong in a given situation. I hope you enjoy!*




AITAH for telling my roommate how fat she got?

Throwaway account cause I don’t want my roommate to see this, but the title pretty much says it all. I’ve been living with this girl, let's call her Ellie, for about 3 years. She was overall a pretty good roommate (never really had anyone over, always did her half of the chores, etc.) but the kinds of habits she's developed lately are driving me up the wall.

I don’t mind sharing my space (duh, I have a roommate), but to me, sharing a space should be 50/50, it should actually be EVEN. My roommate and I have a good amount of storage in our kitchen, but between the cabinets, drawers, fridge, and freezer, Ellie has slowly taken up more and more space with the insane amount of food she's been buying. We’re at the point where 90% of the stuff in the kitchen is hers, and it's literally so annoying to have to search through her mountains of junk food just to find my veggie straws.

There's always piles of food everywhere, I swear she gets deliveries twice a day, and it's not that I mind the mess as much as I mind the fact that I barely even have any snacks and I have nowhere to store them.

I was pushed past my limit two days ago when I opened a cabinet and a box of cookies literally fell on my head from how full it was, and I wrote her an email (we always have serious financial/practical conversations over email to leave a paper trail) explaining that her situation was getting out of control and she needed to be more considerate.

Yes, I was a little mad when I wrote it, but everything I said was true and I feel like holding it back would’ve just been passive-aggressive. She got super upset after reading it and told me I was fat-shaming her. Was I wrong for telling her the truth and letting her know how I feel?

Edit (11/08): Everyone keeps commenting that they need to see the letter, so I pasted it below:

Ellie,

I’m writing this over email because we’ve had this conversation a million times and nothing’s changed, so if it keeps being a problem I'm sending this documentation straight to the landlord and letting him know you’ll be paying a higher split of the rent.

I wanted to make you aware that your super-double-chocolate-chunk-whatever cookies just fell out of the cabinet when I opened it and almost hit me in the eye, and this wouldn't be happening if every cabinet wasn't crammed full of all the junky food you’re always stuffing your face with. I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but you so clearly have a problem. When you moved in you weighed like 100 pounds and then you started eating like an absolute pig and just blew up. When my mom came to visit last month she didn't even recognize you, she asked me ‘Where's your roommate’ after you waddled out of the room with your bags of chips.

You’re actually such a disgusting slob, just a few years ago you were thin and fit and now you sit on the couch with your blubbery gut hanging out and eat until you can't even move. Watching you explode while you gorge yourself on all the snacks you fill our kitchen with honestly makes me sick, it motivates me to go harder in the gym so I don't end up a flabby blob like you.

Every part of your body is like a warning sign: your chubby, swollen cheeks and double chin, your pudgy arms and hands, the way your thighs are getting so thick you can’t even squeeze yourself into the loveseat anymore, it's just humiliating for you. Or it would be if you cared about anything other than stuffing your face with like 5,000 calories every day. You're actually starting to look pregnant, it's like your entire body was inflated with fat.

You have to be real with yourself, cause the denial just isn't cute. You’re a fucking whale, and I tried to be patient with you cause you’re clearly going through something, but I’m sick of you waddling around this apartment and taking up all the space in the kitchen. Just because you take up so much more space doesn't mean your food needs to.

I suggest you diet, immediately, but since I know you probably can’t, at least start keeping your snacks in your own room. Or like I said, I'm telling Tim. And you know he already reached out last month because of the downstairs neighbors' complaints. I covered for you and didn't tell him that all the stomping is just your fat ass waddling around like usual, but if this doesn't get fixed, I’m snitching about that too.

I’m really just trying to help you, cause if I got that fat that fast I would want someone to tell me too. Watching you try to cram yourself in all your old clothes is just painful, and the bigger you get the more ridiculous you look, everyone thinks so. When my boyfriend was over to watch movies and you were getting a pizza (as usual), he asked why you never wear clothes that fit. It was so mortifying to watch you jiggle just from walking across the room. Your entire gut was hanging out and your whole body was wobbling like crazy, you looked like such a cow.

Every time I see you you're fatter and every time I see the kitchen there's more junk food piled in the cabinets and on the counters. You need to get yourself under control. I literally got injured cause of how fat and greedy you are. Either stop stuffing your bloated face, pay a higher share of the rent, or just move into a buffet so you can eat yourself into immobility like I know you probably want to.

Your enormous, fatty body is my worst nightmare and it should be yours too, but instead, you just keep eating and eating and eating. I bet you're eating right now while you read this. Wipe the chocolate off your face, get up, and reorganize the fucking kitchen.

-Courtney



Edit (11/10): Everyone voting YTA after I posted the letter needs to learn to read. I didn't ask if the letter was mean, I asked if I’m the asshole for telling her how fat she got. I constantly comment on her weight and give little hints that she’s getting big (in order to help her), but I’ve never told her just how big. I just thought maybe it was rude to describe in detail just how far she’s gorged herself into obesity, but I don't even care anymore, she needed to hear it.







*This was a little experimental flash-fiction in a really fun style that I loved:) For more you can check out my profile here on FF! Thanks so much for reading!*