So for Christmas this year my parents bought the boyfriend an Under Armor sweatshirt, which was pretty nice of them since it's like a $60 fucking sweatshirt. My dad picked it out and the color and pattern was perfect, except for the size. He bought a XXL. Joey-Fart-Pants wears a large or extra-large, depending on who makes the sweatshirt. Mom tells Dad that it's going to be too big and Dad insisted that it will be fine. Dad puts the sweatshirt on himself and says, see? It's almost too small for me! Dad...that's because you are 6'3" and 230 pounds...FartPants is 5'7" and 180 pounds. (but if you ask him, he'll tell you he's 5'9" and 200 pounds, because that's what he was in high school...thirteen fucking years ago! He REFUSES to admit that he's shrinking, even when we stand side-by-side in the mirror and are the same fucking height. He thinks I'm lying. Yes, clearly I'm lying even though you are seeing with your own fucking eyes that we are the SAME HEIGHT. Denial.) Anyway, Dad is still convinced that the sweatshirt will fit and tells me to just take it to him anyway and if it really doesn't fit we can exchange it. At the last resort to try to convince him that I'm right I say, "Dad, I see him naked all the time. I know what size clothes he wears!" and I get a blank stare while he lets that sink in for just a moment. Then he just shakes his head in what I can only assume is his Too-Much-Information head shake.
So I deliver the sweatshirt to Joey this past weekend, he unwraps it and is all excited for it until he notices the size. I say, "It might be a little on the big side for you, honey". To which he replies, "It's more your size" and hands it to me. Suddenly my eyeballs start shooting flames and pure hatred and I whip the sweatshirt back at his fucking face and scream, "I can't believe you fucking said that!! My size?! What is that supposed to mean?? That my size is fat and I'm fat and you just called me fucking fat?!?!?" Calmly (as always) he replies, "Well, it's not my size. And I didn't say you were fat, I just said it's more your size than mine". I'm sorry asshole, but any female in America would interpret that as YOU calling ME fat and you're lucky I don't claw your face off right at this very moment, I don't care if it's Christmas or not!!! So then I put my coat on, storm out to my vehicle, drive straight to the gas station (crying, by the way) and buy a candy bar. (I'm an emotional eater. Clearly.) But I didn't eat the candy bar, I let it sit on the counter until the next day. And then I ate it. And it was fucking delicious.
Well...if that's not a fucking "here's your sign" then I don't know what is. He's right, he didn't come right out and call me fat and I overreacted like fuck because I'm a woman and that's what the fuck we do and it's our right. Losing weight is always on my to-do list but I always find other things that are more important to concentrate on. I'm going to put it on my New Year's Resolution list and that'll be the ONLY thing on my list (because I usually have 5 or 6) because I need to focus on it, for real this time. I know I can do it...I've done it before...I just need to DO IT and stick to it. No more excuses, no more procrastination, no more 10:30pm Christmas Day trips to Micky D's. (yeah, I just did that tonight. For shame.) It's time to let that hot mama out, she's in there...I've just been silencing the bitch with wine and pizza and chocolate for all these years.
And now...my lovely Alpaca friends:
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