Instead of going out partying and drinking with friends, I buy a huge ghirardelli Ice cream cone and jammed away to friday party mix down the highway in my convertible.
Yes, I am a five foot tall tiny person tromping through Target carrying the 50 pound bag of dog food.
No, I do not need your help. Why in anyone’s right mind* would someone accidentally forget a cart and instead decide it’s more sensible to tote around a 50 pound bag?
Come on, people think. I’ve been out of the gym for a two weeks. I need to work these damn arms.
Don’t ask me if I need help and don’t act like you are some hot male shit because you thought you were cool and stepping up to help some poor girl. Pluh-ezze, boy. I’ve got bigger muscles than you.
*I guess we could also aurgue I’m possibly insane, but that’s beyond the point
One of the strangest things about having lost all that weight is that I will be sitting here, minding my own buisness, and then I look over and realize, “Damn, my thighs are so small. “