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aruan"You look better." I have a fever of close to 100 degrees, have been hacking up bits of my lungs pretty regularly for the past ten minutes and haven't seen direct sunlight in about three and a half months. Sure.
"You've lost weight, haven't you?" What he actually meant by 'better.' Oh, but any exercise-pertinent questions should be directed at my brother, the resident expert, owing to his two-month bout of weightlifting.
Ahem. *clears throat*
[rant] If I want you to comment on my body, I'll wear hoochie shirts and ass-baring miniskirts so you could see exactly where I lost those six pounds and the tone my leg muscles are nicely developing. [/rant]
Not that you'd care because, well, I'm still not Cindy Crawford. Come back and speak to you when Sports Illustrated comes knocking, until then, toil away in your meaningless little existence with your tragically flawed writing.
As the good father that he is, I'm now the proud owner of a psychology manual on how and why everything that constitutes life's affirmations and self-esteem comes from a happy, meaningful, contractually-bound heterosexual union. Because obviously, my priorities at this point in my life are skewed if I'm not doing everything within my power to land a husband.
I can't change lanes properly because I glance in my blind spot before not swerving but making a calculated drift. Apparently, I've driven that past incident-free 50,000+ miles by grace and a flock of angels alone.
God bless him.
To anyone I had made dinner plans with in the next few days, please don't take it personally if I call in dead.
"You've lost weight, haven't you?" What he actually meant by 'better.' Oh, but any exercise-pertinent questions should be directed at my brother, the resident expert, owing to his two-month bout of weightlifting.
Ahem. *clears throat*
[rant] If I want you to comment on my body, I'll wear hoochie shirts and ass-baring miniskirts so you could see exactly where I lost those six pounds and the tone my leg muscles are nicely developing. [/rant]
Not that you'd care because, well, I'm still not Cindy Crawford. Come back and speak to you when Sports Illustrated comes knocking, until then, toil away in your meaningless little existence with your tragically flawed writing.
As the good father that he is, I'm now the proud owner of a psychology manual on how and why everything that constitutes life's affirmations and self-esteem comes from a happy, meaningful, contractually-bound heterosexual union. Because obviously, my priorities at this point in my life are skewed if I'm not doing everything within my power to land a husband.
I can't change lanes properly because I glance in my blind spot before not swerving but making a calculated drift. Apparently, I've driven that past incident-free 50,000+ miles by grace and a flock of angels alone.
God bless him.
To anyone I had made dinner plans with in the next few days, please don't take it personally if I call in dead.
