So as we were driving around this weekend shuffling from family event to family to family event, Scott in a rare moment of Lauren-esq a.d.d. asked me a very random question... actually now that I think about it we may have been talking about eating right... scratch that, Scott was right on track with the topic at hand, I was not paying full attention so it just seemed random at the time.
what was I talking about?
squirrel.
oh, right! Scott asked me if the fat kid had a name (see how that could seem random if you are not paying attention because a butterfly just caught your eye?).
Well, fudge. I don't know... The fat kid has many names, most are highly inappropriate for present company (you're welcome). The name changes with my mood as well as his... I am not even sure why he is... well... a he.
Some days he is small and hides in the corner and I think of him as a Percy type of guy, kind of mousy, possibly English. Mostly just stays out of my way and occasionally begs for scraps of food
Other days he is a petulant child by the name of Thurman. Thurman is that fat kid we all hate, the cartmans of the world. He is rude, he frequently interrupts whatever I am doing and forces me to eat pizza. He drags me around and I have little power over that little shit.
He can be middle ground too (maybe...Bill?) more of a annoying poke in the shoulder every hour to remind me that I haven't had annnny doughnuts today and I will probably drop dead at any moment due to lack of calories.
When I completely go off the deep end into my cave made of pizza and self loathing he is "YSSOB" which is an ancient name that loosely translates to "You Stupid Son of a Bitch"
And when he listens and quiets down enough that I convince myself that salads aren't that bad, chicken is just as filling as pancakes, and water with lemon is no different that soda he goes by Bob. Because.. well, everyone loves Bob.
The fat kid is in all of us, as is the skinny bitch trying to get out.
So as Bill and my inner skinny bitch fight it out over a piece of lettuce, my husband will be at peace knowing that the fat kid is not nameless. He is known, he is acknowledged, and he is going down.
(Scott's vote was for Winston)
what was I talking about?
squirrel.
oh, right! Scott asked me if the fat kid had a name (see how that could seem random if you are not paying attention because a butterfly just caught your eye?).
Well, fudge. I don't know... The fat kid has many names, most are highly inappropriate for present company (you're welcome). The name changes with my mood as well as his... I am not even sure why he is... well... a he.
Some days he is small and hides in the corner and I think of him as a Percy type of guy, kind of mousy, possibly English. Mostly just stays out of my way and occasionally begs for scraps of food
Other days he is a petulant child by the name of Thurman. Thurman is that fat kid we all hate, the cartmans of the world. He is rude, he frequently interrupts whatever I am doing and forces me to eat pizza. He drags me around and I have little power over that little shit.
He can be middle ground too (maybe...Bill?) more of a annoying poke in the shoulder every hour to remind me that I haven't had annnny doughnuts today and I will probably drop dead at any moment due to lack of calories.
When I completely go off the deep end into my cave made of pizza and self loathing he is "YSSOB" which is an ancient name that loosely translates to "You Stupid Son of a Bitch"
And when he listens and quiets down enough that I convince myself that salads aren't that bad, chicken is just as filling as pancakes, and water with lemon is no different that soda he goes by Bob. Because.. well, everyone loves Bob.
The fat kid is in all of us, as is the skinny bitch trying to get out.
So as Bill and my inner skinny bitch fight it out over a piece of lettuce, my husband will be at peace knowing that the fat kid is not nameless. He is known, he is acknowledged, and he is going down.
(Scott's vote was for Winston)
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