Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, canoli, carb-loving, drive me up the wall, grating, karma, lunch, naturally skinny, naturally thin, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, skinny bitch, terminator, tits on a stick, tits on a trunk, treadmill clotheshanger, veal rolotini, vent, work-out
Overheard at lunch yesterday: “If that skinny bitch eats one bite of those carbs, I’m just going to give up and kill myself.”
Dramatic, yes. But, that’s the way I roll.
Speaking of rolls, the big trip up North did not help me out in the look-svelte-in-your-bathing-suit category. I don’t look anything close to svelte in my bathing suit and I even splurged for the one with the built-in fat sucker. Now, I’m not going to be one of those people who complains about being heavier than I want to be. That would be a tad hypocritical being that above quote was said over a licked-clean plate of what used to be a short-stack and sausage. Besides, we all know how I feel about hypocrites. No, I’m going to be one of those people who complains about skinny little bitches who get to eat whatever they want without having to get on a single treadmill.
Seriously, though... How am I supposed to say no to this? Veal rolotini. Some of the best stuff I've ever put in my mouth. The canoli dessert was gone before I got to take a picture.
I swear, every time I hear one say, “Oh, I’m just naturally skinny,” my Terminator vision kicks in, a target appears on their forehead and I want to blast them to infinity. The big guns come out when the skinny girl who knows she’s skinny says, “Oh, I’m so fat. Look at this.” All while trying to squeeze a bit of skin between her fingers. Oh, shut it – I lost more fat than that in a cheek swab. If you haven’t had kids yet and aren’t over the age of 30, you better watch out. Karma is a bitch. I used to be naturally thin. All my pre-baby life my sister called me “tits on a stick.” Two babies and a few birthdays later, it’s “tits on a trunk.” I swear for each time you rub in that you can eat whatever you want, you get a pound of fat that sits right under your bellybutton and never goes away. Or, maybe this is just my own internal vision of ideal karma.
Ahhh.... that's more like it!
Department of Torture Patent No. 4783290, a/k/a my treadmill, sits dormant in my office, collecting clothes and dust. Why? Because I’m lazy. And, I’m great at justifying my laziness. See, when I gain weight it is usually all in my arms, my bust and my waistline. What’s a treadmill going to do to fix that? No need to get all sweaty for nothing, right? Just throw on a low-cut 3/4 sleeve babydoll shirt and hope no one looks down past the cleavage.
Maybe if they made a workout show where you were kick-boxing a bag that looked like a naturally skinny, carb-loving, skin-pinching, compliment-hunting, little bitch… hmmm… I may be on to something here.
Perpetually Peeved 