not too hard, it is sitting on my lap.
Well not quite, but it is only a matter of time if I keep this shit up.
A few days, weeks, whatever ago I was whining about not being hungry. I am too lazy to look up when it was.
And that is the problem.
I just couldn’t be bothered.
Today I inhaled half a bag of chips and half a block of chocolate. And latte. A shit load of ‘skinny latte’ that add up to a shit load of calories no matter how skinny the milk is. It was still like a freaking litre.
I have a fridge full of healthy foods. A table with TWO fruit baskets brimming with summers bounty.
I could eat gourmet healthy shit till it is coming out my arse. In a nice S shape that would keep Oprah’s buddy Dr Oz in squeals of delight.
But no. I reach for the shite. Cause it is easier. Cause I deserve a treat.
Cause it is freaking TASTY!!
It is not my fault, of course. Nothing is ever my fault, my lovelies. I blame MPS.
He brings the shit into the house. He comes home with chocolate and chips and lollies and Oh.My.God. CLINKERS.
He presents it to me with ‘Look what I got you honey!’ Bouncing like a little kid presenting his mummy with a collection of rocks and dog turds. So proud of himself. He hunted and collected for his little cave woman.
Me, Tarzan. You fat arsed Jane.
Does he do it to make me happy?
Or fatten me up?
I had a friend in high school who was HUGE. I mean fuck me dead, she was big. I went to her house one day after school and while we were chatting about who was hotter, Boy George or Prince, (pre teens here people) her older sister came in.
We were like 11 or 12, she was 18. She was gorgeous! Slim, pretty, the whole shebang.
After talking to her sister it was revealed that she was once as big as J. Her parents fattened them up as kids and then slimmed them down as late teens in order to find a husband. With their virginity in tact.
What the fuck?
That has stayed with me all these years. Insanity.
But is that what MPS is doing in a round about way? Fatten the old girl up so when she realises that there is a huge fucking difference between 35 and 45, and that he is less than 5 years away from FIFTY, no bastard is gunna want to play hide the secret sausage with his wife with the four foot wide butt,
and can contemplate her navel sitting on her lap.
Does he really not notice the cellulite starting to dimple my thighs? My arms that will start flapping in the breeze when I lift ‘em to reach for the potato chips or chocolate coated anything hiding in the top of the pantry?
Does he really believe that a woman with more meat on her gives him extra to cuddle? *snigger*
Now don’t get me wrong. I am not out looking for some extra activity. I am too freaking tired to even contemplate my own husband, let alone some other
hot Indian waiter guy.
I just wonder if he means it when he says ‘I love you just the way you are’ and ‘man your one fine woman’ etc etc and then has a not-so-secret lusting for Kylie Minogue. *vomit*
Would he bring Kylie Clinkers?
Now, I need to get off this computer. I have a hot date with my other half….
…..block of chocolate.