Fat Ass

So I was going about my business last night at work trying to get my shit done and get the hell outta there, when Little Miss Attitude (the 18 year old manager who sucks ass that I fully intend on taking all managerial hours from) started a conversation with me.

Sidenote: Little Miss will talk to ANYONE, even me who is almost completely unresponsive to her voice, simply because I do not wish to have my ears assaulted by imbecility. She also lacks the knowledge of a 4th grader, believing Asia is a country- but we will not get started on that.

Little Miss: So I burned 356 calories before work, plus I did a bunch of crunches, and I might work out when I get home.

(For your informations, she also ate 4 meals during her 7 hours shift)

Me: *refusing to state what I just did above*

Little Miss: Do you work out?

Me: Nope. I hate excercise and there are many other things I’d rather waste my time doing.

Little Miss: Wait. Do you like your body?!

(This question was asked in such a way that there is no doubt in my mind that she was implying that I shouldn’t like my body.)

Me: It has it’s good days and bad days, but my clothes still fit and I still have people begging to touch my body.

Little Miss: Well, clothes will always fit. It just depends how big you want your clothes to be.

(Apparently my size is completely offensive to this little bitch, and she is not going to desist in commenting so.)

For some more of your informations, this chic comes to work in a size 7 pants, when she should actually be wearing a size 11. (Which is what I wear) This is a constant source of conversation amongst the employees when she isn’t around, because the squeezing of her fat into too-small of pants makes her look as though she is a balloon on the verge of popping. I, on the other hand, wear the size of pants that actaully FIT me, and do not look like my body is made of plastic-encased pudding.

As I no longer deemed Little Miss’s comments worthy of response, I went about my business once more, but I continued to ponder what she said. This is my un-edited rethought response to her question- “Do you like your body?”  :

My upper arms may look better in a shirt with cap sleeves than sleeveless, but they are able to carry my 85 lb. almost-stepdaughter into bed when she falls asleep in my lap. They are also able to carry 100+ boxes of books up a flight of stairs without any help. They are also capable of giving amazing hugs.

My ass may not fit perfectly in a pair of low-rise jeans, and it may not look like a Victoria’s Secret model’s in a pair of lacy thongs, but it’s just the right size for my Rockstar to have something to grab onto when he’s feeling frisky, and just looking at it drives my boss insane with desire.

My thighs may be the size of Arnold Schwarzzenegger’s torso, but I can proudly take any buff dude to the gym and kick his ass on the squat-thrust machine. They also have faded stretch marks from when I was a chubby kid, but that just reminds me that I’m not as awful looking as I used to be.

My boobies may not be as perky as Pamela Anderson’s implanted ones, but they are still more than a handful for any guy, and I don’t need a Wonderbra to make cleavage because I have more than enough naturally.

My twat (I love that word!) may be “fat” and too completely capable of getting camel-toe, but the surprised response of “You’re so tight!” seems like the one a girl would want to hear.

My calves may look like they belong to an Olympic weight-lifter, but they look great in heels and a skirt, and these legs of mine can walk me to California, or Antarctica,  if a Zombie Apocalypse ensues and we run out of gas.

My lips may not be Angelina-esque, but they are just the right size to keep bullshit and idiocy from falling out of my mouth.

My hands may be calloused, and I will never be able to be a hand model, but they prove that I can work hard and I don’t expect someone else to take care of me (although that would be very nice). The fingers on my hands are surprisingly short and child-like, but I bet your fingers cannot bring people to tears by playing Beethoven’s Grande Sonata.

My shoulders may look like a line-backer’s. but they are just the right size for an 85 lb. 9 year old to sit on.

My neck may not be long and slender, but it’s strong enough to hold up my skull, which encases the most important part of me- my genius brain. This brain is capable of great imaginings, and is full of trivial facts- one of which is that Asia is, in fact, NOT a country.

Yes, I like my body. So there.