Cake AND death, probably.

Around May, I noticed my jeans were getting tight, so I bought bigger jeans, but thought, “Oh, OK, wakeup call — I should lose some weight.”

Buuut I didn’t.

And then the bigger jeans started getting tight, and I thought, “NO. This is horseshit. I’m not spending MORE money — I’ll just lose some weight. For real this time.”

Buuut I didn’t.

So I bought the NEXT biggest size, and you know what? I am fucking COMFORTABLE. God, fat pants are the BEST. And the kinda stretchy fat pants with Spandex or whatever in ’em? DAMN. So good.

Screw it. The world is awful and cake is great.

(Ahem… This defiant attitude brought to you by the first time a doctor ever told me it might be good to lose some weight, which happened last week. But she based it on BMI, and BMI is fake news. Suck it, lady. #sheetcaking for the win.)

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In which Target helps me plan my next seduction…

It’s possible this is just because I’m a new woman he’s trying to flatter, BUT… New Dude has complimented my lingerie every time my clothes have come off. So at the very least, he appreciates the effort. But I realized I have limited quantities of sex-worthy underwear — a fifth date hasn’t been an issue in years. Time to call in reinforcements!

I’ll just drag myself back under these stairs…

I knew I’d put on some weight, but I just tried on clothes while also puffy from PMS and salty food, and now I would KILL to be fucked as thoroughly as my body image.

Wonder Woman’s gonna wonder who my boobs even think they’re kidding.

It’s adorable how I just ordered this as if, even in its largest size, it will ever EVER even fit right, let alone function as a sports bra. #HeavyBoobs