Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

You make me want to drink.

You know who does that?? Only my Hokies, and my job. You are not allowed to join those ranks.  You are not allowed to make me cry. You know who does that? The Hokies and my job.

So guess what?  Unless you are going to lose to JMU or sign my paycheck, please don't address to me for a while.

Yeah that's right, I am talking to you.  I am talking to YOU, the fellow female, the fellow bra wearing, PMSing, hip swinging female who asked me if I was pregnant.  I KNOW I'M OVERWEIGHT.  But guess what I'm not... PREGNANT. Nor am I too proud to blast you on my blog.

You know why I am blasting you on my blog? Because when you asked me if I was pregnant, my first worry was about how awkward YOU were going to feel when I said 'no'.  But sho nuff, you didn't bat and eyelash.  You simply said "well I was just betting you were since everyone else is", and by betting I was pregnant, you were betting I wouldn't slap you.


I don't want to be nasty, but where were you raised that it is EVER ok to ask someone who is overweight if they are pregnant.  You have known me long enough to know that this tummy is not from a parasitic fetus living inside of me.  It is from the second serving of manners my mother gave me growing up.  Want some?

So after calling my husband, friends and sisters, crying my mascara off, and refusing to eat dinner, I am now sitting on the couch, watching Man VS Food, because apparently I need to learn how to put my noteworthy girth to good use through competitive eating.


P.S. Hi Brian! Bye Brian!

1 comment:

  1. Hey, thanks for the P.S. shout-out. I'm posting as anonymous because I couldn't figure out how to do it otherwise.

    My feelings toward your entry above can best be described by a quote from one of my favorite movies, The Royal Tenennbaums: "I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO THINK ABOUT KNOWING HOW TO RESPOND TO THAT."