Don't be a drag, just be a Dairy Queen

I found out recently that my mom doesn't like my kind. It's not fair to discriminate, Lady Gaga would say we're born this way. People who just can't control their urges and they just keep going, wanting more and more. And if we can't have it, we just start twitching like we're tweaking out, in need of a good fix. Apparently there's a lady that she works with who is like me. But her drug of choice is Reeses. While those are good, I've never delved into how many pounds of the chocolate peanut buttery goodness I can eat in one sitting. However, I'm good for about a pound and a half of Twizzlers... and only a few of those were made into straws.

Abs of steel? Please, I'd rather have a stomach of steel, able to finish Ritas Italian ice or a delicious milkshake in mere seconds. Capable of handling 8+ bowls of Olive Garden soup (my friends made me leave). I see the words "all you can eat" and I readily accept the challenge. Endless soup, salad and breadsticks? Bring it on! And I will not give in to your smaller bowls of soup or one breadstick per person after the first round trickery. You might as well cut your losses and fill up my bowl the entire way up with delicious soup and bring me an entire pan of breadsticks. Apparently my passion for eating is starting to show.

Recently I was helping a customer out in the athletic wear department. She asked me where the "microfiber" pants were. I've heard of "microfiber" before, but never really knew what it was because after a few horrifying incidents with spandex and a Richard Simmons video, anything remotely related to "working out" terrifies me. So I asked if the customer could explain "microfiber" to me because I'm not familiar with the athletic department. Her response? "Well, obviously." Although, a friend did point out she could have just been implying that I'm an idiot, not calling me rotund. However, I'd rather be called fat because at least I earned that title fair and square... well, fair and round?