Chewin the Fat

So….Mother came for a visit and managed not to tell me, “I don’t look that bad.” It’s a small victory but one worth celebrating. Mothers Day is just around the corner so I suspect that played into her agenda. What exactly do you say whilst gazing upon 456 lbs of what was once small enough to exit your body gracefully? Ahhh….thanks for getting out in the nick of time, perhaps? Wanna know what I got her for Mother’s Day? It’s the gift that keeps on giving…An “Ass Blaster” from QVC! It’s a hand me down. Not because she needs it…because my husband, in his infinite male wisdom (aka…stupidity), decided it was the perfect gift for his not so perfect wife. Thanks Honey! I wanted to reciprocate but they don’t currently have a gadget for the dumb man gene. I’m sure it’s in the works….no doubt by a man….who is putting it off until after football season….who will set it down somewhere and forget where he put it…probably 2 inches from where it belongs….then his wife will throw it out thinking it’s trash….so it may take a while but there’s always hope.

I’m changing things up a bit to share some things I observed/experienced over the past few weeks:

1. Dunkin Donuts tag line “Keeps America Running”….I can’t be sure the Presidents Council on Physical Fitness would agree that coffee and donuts keeps American running. Running to the cardiologist maybe…..or back to Dunkin Donuts….but literally running after eating donuts is nearly impossible….unless you are a SIF! I ate 3 this morning and while I did not go for a post consumption run…I could have. Commitment at it’s finest. Strength in the face of adversity…. I give you…. a SIF

2. Running a Half Marathon whilst Fat…Not only have I been doing this for years….I’m getting quite good at it. I dare say I am the Queen of the Clydesdale Division….but I can’t….bcs the tricky part about being a fat runner is…the fatter you are the faster you are! I kid you not…I’m what I like to call “middle of the road fat.” You know…I can pass on either side of the double line when I have to. So the skinnies always like to ask me my time at the finish. Rude. Does it matter? I just ran 13 freakin miles with 2 of you strapped to my ass! Is there a time goal associated with dragging 1/4 pounders 13 miles?!!! I think not. So stop asking…bitches. When you are noticeably fat….no one asks these questions. You are simply congratulated on a job well done. UNFAIR! Here’s the thing….they usually beat me! Perhaps they are fueling up at Dunkin Donuts pre-race…I don’t know! Maybe they are reading into the slogan and running with it! All I know…I have yet to run a race where I am not passed by some chick in screaming spandex with an ass large enough to post her family tree dating back to…oh say…Jesus! *Pause for random sign of cross* Top that with my 67 year old Dad beating me by like an hour and winning 1st place in his age group and….well….it’s just shameful. One of two things needs to happen…I need to get fatter or find a new hobby.

3. Running Expos…they irritate me beyond belief. No… I don’t need any extra butt paste or nipple protectors. My ass has enough fry grease to keep it lubed and my nipples are the only part of my breasts that are real…I shant hinder them from shining. Perhaps I can buy some new running shorts that say “Runner Chick” on the ass. Yeah…that would keep people guessing. It would look like “Running for chicken” plastered on my ass….lovely. Mother came with Dad and I to the running Expo. This nice young man asked her if she wanted to make a sign for her runners. She obliged, handed him back the sign and walked off. Interesting. Thank God there was an egg AND a sperm involved in my creation. After explaining that we were in fact her runners and we would not be able to see the sign from the EXPO….something clicked, she went back for the sign and we were on our way.

4. Being Poor = Being Fat…at first this didn’t seem logical. If you are broke… you can’t afford to eat so that makes you skinny, right? Not. You can’t afford GOOD food. Everything bad for you is affordable. Little Debbie (love you)…low class whore at just under a buck, Jimmy Dean…typical man…lures you in with the promise good things and ends up on your ass and my personal favorite Cap’n Crunch….he might wanna crunch some numbers bcs that sugar ferry will take you on a one way trip to Fattyville! Everywhere you look there’s a Dolla Menu calling out to the poor! Hell, I clip coupons to save money and the only thing I can get dirt cheap is ice cream and soda. Nobody’s handing out coupons for apples and lettuce….which by the way cost more than half of what a minimum wage worker make in one hour. Let’s see….I worked all week, made $67 and now I need food…spend it on a one night stand with a Golden Delicious or enjoy a week long tryst with that no good hooka Little Debbie. The choice is clear. We are fat bcs we can afford it! Here’s some food for thought: I don’t like being poor, I don’t like being fat but I do so enjoy eating the poor man’s diet which in turn makes me fat. One word: Intervention. Make the call.

Well, it’s high noon and you know what that means….Fat Girl Lunch Hour! My God it’s like Christmas in April!!! SIF out!