Well, Reader, it looks as if my job here is done – I’ve completely befuddled you with my last post about jumping back into bed with my ex and having babies.
Let’s be clear, I’m not actually sexing up any ex. I mean, come’on – a little credit, Reader. I know I am an impulsive wildflower at times, but seri. I can keep my pants up.
I’m not doing anything nearly as cray as that – just going back to my old company, the only “ex” that still moves my heartstrings a little. Because that ex has $$. And benefits. And friendies. And a nice new pretty building.
So that’s the arms I’m headed back into.
In the meantime, I have a week between j-o-b-s, because I need to get my shitz together.
Last week, in a move to squeeze the last bit of juice from my health insurance I had a physical, complete with a fasting blood test. They also had one of those 600-lb-Life scales, the kind with the arms that can support super biggies.
I felt some foreshadowing going on.
Then I got paperwork from the office that called me morbidly obese. In writing, Reader, where I can’t pretend I didn’t hear it.
Reader. That seemed a little mean. And uncalled for. And just plain hurtful. This is the very definition of body shaming me, in writing! – and we should all take to Twitter and stage an uprising, with celebrities coming to my rescue and telling me I’m fine, just fine with my soft and doughy shape.
Nosey Dots doesn’t have any shame at all in his soft and fluffy tummy, as evidenced by the photo above. He owns that shit. I guess it’s a little cuter when it’s covered in soft fluffy fur. Except on me that wouldn’t actually be cuter, it would be troublesome if my tummy was hairy and covered in soft white fur.
It’s a double standard, I say.
On top of that, I was told I’m now “at the age” where I need to get a colonoscopy. So they wanna check out what’s up mah butt. But. They gave me the option to poop from home, and then ship my poop in a container and have it looked at by some facility that examines poop.
Guess which option I’m going with?
And then, just moments ago, I got a call from my neighborhood family practice that they want to SEE ME to review my blood test results. So now that’s happening tomorrow morning. No good can come of them having to see me to review. No good at all. I have a feeling cake will not be in my future much longer.
This old abused body has had enough. Good thing I plan on starting the Whole 30. Because my body is apparently angry at the choices my mouth is making, too.
I can’t imagine why my real ex’s aren’t clamoring to jump back into bed with my morbidly obese body who needs to get her pooper checked out. I just can’t imagine.