The reason for the ‘Two Slice Rule’ (yet another reason exes can’t be friends)

I like to consider myself a bit of a social chameleon.  I’ve prided myself in being a circle bouncer my whole life.  Hopping from the kids in the smoke pit to the ones suntanning on the football sidelines.  To this day I feel I can hold my own with most social groups… usually it’s a matter of fluctuating my voice and either taking away or adding more “fucks” to the conversation.  Easy peasy.  We all do it.   There’s one area, however, in which I can not possibly convey any demeanour that is not 100%, unabashed me.    

Food.

I walk into a room full of people and food, no matter the social circumstances, and I’m like holyfuckhoorayhooraynomNOMfuckyesobesityyes!!!!

It’s a problem.

I’m not kidding, I’ve had people film me eating because it blows their minds.  Not in like… a weird 15 hot dogs kind of way, but in the way that’s like ‘you didn’t give me a fork so I’m eating this Alfredo with my hands and licking the bowl because I refuse to wait for you to get back with cutlery when I want this RIGHT NOW.’

So, surprise surprise, Wednesday night’s playoff game produced pizza and I went to town.  Like, really went to town.  SEVEN pieces into town.  Large pieces. Not even all ultra-thin crust or anything and not even all veggie.  Meat lovers deluxe extra fluffy crust and extra cheesy pieces.  I was an animal and I didn’t give a fuck because we were all friends there.

Kind of.

We were all friends there except it just so happens I used to date one of them for quite a long time.  Which doesn’t even matter because we’re friends now and it’s wonderful and we have a great time.  He happens to be working as a personal trainer at the moment and yesterday, after thinking to myself ‘hmm, summer’s in two months’ I decided to ask him, as a friend if he would be willing to train me.  Because I only have two months to shape up and look like Miranda Kerr.  As a friend he was all “yeah, of course I will!” and I was all “yay!”  and then something bad happened.

“Yeah of course I will” was followed by “I’ve also done up a meal plan for you to follow :)”

 You did WHAT?!?!?!?!? And then you putting a fucking SMILEY FACE?!

“Don’t worry, it won’t be hard.”

….

….

When someone you used to hook up with suggests you follow a meal plan, it’s time to re-evaluate life a little bit.

“It’s gluten free.”

NO.  Your fucking face is gluten free.  Go away.

I pouted for the rest of the day, went home, put on my running shoes, loaded my iPod up with Lil Wayne, pounded 5k out of the pavement, felt great and then drove to A&W and got a Teen Burger.  Practically cried into the thing.

“I like your body  – as much of it as I can remember.”

Shut up.  Just shut up.  Let me wallow into my pizza belly.  I’ll follow your stupid meal plan and your work out plan.

“I’ll get you in retarded shape.”

Good.  Perfect.  Great.  Then I’ll kick your ass.

xo & yw & never shoulda asked

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