Harmony stood on the 50 cent scale, outside of a shopping store, staring at it with near tears of horror about to run down her elegant, flush cheeks. “Oh my God…” she said, hiding the printout from me so that I couldn’t see the weight.
“How much?”
“I’m not showing you! No…” She said, clenching the small receipt as if squeezing the mass out of it would have the same effect on her’s. The paper read *edited* (I’m smarter than that! Any girl would murder me if I really posted it!); Harmony weighs all of some minuscule weight that looks fantastic on women even though 89.7% of them hate it.
…then she ordered a pizza today. …and begged me to bake the brownies we have in the cabinet.
I swear, logic and women just don’t go together when you mix in chocolate, fudge, or convenience.
I can’t entertain gripes about weight when you’re ordering pizza and going for the cookie dough anytime a movie comes on! What’s really baffling is how guys are “assholes” when we break it down like that. Go figure.
“Mirra cariño; ingesting more calories than you can burn in a day results in excess energy stored in the form of ass, thighs, and love handles.”
…and then one day she’s going to figure it all out and “fill me in” on one of life’s secrets. Guys just have to be pros at making their girlfriends feel like they’re the coolest people on the planet. She’s damn close, so it’s not so hard. But, Jesus, either eat the brownies and be happy with a couple extra pounds on top of the nothing-heavy you were before or quit eating them and do something about it! I’m tired of kicking every mirror’s ass for you.
-Frustrated.
