Thicker Than a Snickers

I had a box of Raisinets and a coke for dinner last night. And for brunch I had a french toast sandwich with peanut butter and nutella filling. This, my friends, is what I like to call stress eating. It doesn't actually make me feel better, but it sure does taste good. This type of eating has introduced me to to the phrase "thicker than a snickers" in the past week. While one of the men in the mail room at work assured me that this was, in fact, a compliment and not an insult, I'm not so sure how much I like being called "thick" by the men who pass me on the street. I'd rather hear insults like "girl, you too skinny," and "eat something," but alas, I suppose I am the only one to blame for my status as a "thick" lady.

Of course it doesn't help that a fellow I was, in my mind, briefly "seeing" a while back stopped by my apartment yesterday to say goodbye and was looking less than a good way. Doesn't that always make you want to send them a punch in the box? Why guys gotta be havin' different shaped fat cells than women? And why does food have to taste so good?

Here's hoping the fitness center at the new apartment results in a total loss of the chunk sitch, and the new kitchen inspires consumption of real food that contains actual nutrients. But here's also hoping I never become one of those people who lies to themselves by quoting Kate Moss's, "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." Because let's be real here. A lot of things taste that good. A lot.

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