I Hate My Girlfriend

We'll call her “Sandy.” Sandy gains 5 pounds every six months since we’ve been together. We’ve been together for 18 months. So you do the math. She feeds me every time she’s around, so of course, I’ve been gaining weight too. Does she think I’m not going to notice? All of a sudden her new clothes are flowy, not stretchy, and I’m supposed to chalk it up to fashion trends. Let’s say out loud what we both know: not all of those ripples in your blouse are made of fabric and pockets of air. But I know what this is really about. And it’s not that she’s choosing ranch dressing over me. She wants me to say something mean, and for us to break up over it, and then she’ll lose all the weight in 3 weeks and sleep with the spikey-haired bartender from the latin-fusion restaurant that I hate (and I still think that guy wears lip gloss – no healthy adult male has lips as moist as his always are). Well let me tell you something, Sandy: if you want to leave me for the Bowflex guy, that’s just fine with me. But washboard abs can’t fix your four-years-old Sony laptop. I can. And you know it’s been crashing lately. So for now, I am content to agree to your stalemate. You will continue to do your “washing” against a board made of jelly, and I will pretend that you have an aerodynamic mid-region while I’m repartitioning your hard-drive. But if this whole chubby trend continues, I am going to start wearing pajamas during the day. OUTSIDE OF THE APARTMENT ! ! !