I have gotten to the point where I am so unhappy with the way that my ass looks in my pajama bottoms, that I just go without them. Might as well look at that plump (read: fat) ass in all its tight underwear glory than to mope around the apartment pinching and tugging and over-speculating at what point this month I grew an extra ass cheek.
Why do girls, anyway, spend so much time telling each other that they’re fat? I am a repeat offender of this and am the first one to admit that I am not fishing for compliments. It’s really more a case of the other phenomenon women are especially good at: talking aloud. And the reality is, feeling fat is always on the mind.
We must focus on other things. Shopping, so that you can pursue the logical solution of either 1) buying clothes that will finally fit and flatter, or 2) buying clothes so excruciatingly adorable that you have no choice but to lose weight. You know what you tell your girlfriend: “It’s a little tight, but that’ll just motivate me to go to the gym.”
Well, we know how that one turns out. Option 1 works out more favorably than option 2, and you are left with half a closet-full of last season’s hottest numbers that you could never wear. But the wardrobe permissibly grows larger because you’re able to still exercise option 1 with reasonable regularity.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 9:34 PM
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