I am fat. I am FAT!
I can’t look at my toes anymore. Remember all those hot chocolate rolls I’ve gotten drunk on these past few months? Well, they’ve translated into several fat rolls. Of epic proportions. And oh God, they are everywhere!
So what did I do to lose weight?
I went running at the crack of dawn. In the biggest tracksuit I could find in my closet. This particular tracksuit I’m talking about is from the 70s era. As in when I weighed seventy kilos.
And of course I texted several people about how fat I’ve gotten. (I can only imagine how much they cursed me in their heads, while being all supportive and assuring me, over and over again that I am NOT FAT. But I didn’t believe them. Of course.)
Soon as I got back, I managed to stick my head in the fridge and inhale some ice-cream and a donut.
And then my lovely friend sent me this message.
Also, did you know that half the people who own salons around here are superbly uneducated? Which can only mean one thing: OMG THEY HAVEN’T BEEN TO BEAUTY SCHOOLS!!!!! THEY PROBABLY CAN’T READ LABELS. THEY ARE GONNA GET YOU. YOUR SKIN WILL DIE A TRAGIC DEATH.
Not to mention, your hair.
Okay. I’m gonna calm down now. Thank goodness for this sign pinned to this tree. I am never going to this buity parlor. Ever. Have you ever been attacked by crazy salon people and ended up with half an eyebrow missing? It’s happened to someone I know.
Only in PigSty y’all. Only in PigSty.