Cize it up, size me down.

I had a screening at work for insurance discounts, and I got 3 out of 4 of the available discounts — I am too fat to get the one for healthy BMI. BMI is a bunch of bullshit, but OK — mine is high, qualifying me as “overweight.”

1. Fuck you, I’m adorable. In the words of Cher Horowitz, I’m “like one of those Botticelli chicks.” (But certainly NOT a Monet.)
2. HOWEVER…it’s getting cooler and I can’t just keep wearing summer dresses and ignoring the fact that none of my pants fit.
3. I don’t necessarily care that I’m size 14; I just care that all the clothes I own are a 12. I’ll be goddamned if I’m getting dicked out of an insurance discount AND have to spend money on larger clothes.
4. Maybe I’m wasting money on therapy when all I need to do to fix a “mood disorder not otherwise specified” is have some at-home therapy with Shaun T​. (It’s not, but it can’t hurt.) (Also, mmm, Shaun T…)

I’ve resolved this here before, so if I don’t report back soon that I am once again partying in my pants, I’m going to post my address here and one of y’all has to come bust my kneecaps. Deal? Excellent. Glad we had this talk.(As a bonus, if you break my kneecaps, I can’t work out. See what I did there?)

P.S. This is going to blow numerous goats, because the weather is changing and pretty much all I want to eat is lasagna. I’m basically Garfield from November through March.

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