IT'S A UNIVERSAL LAW

I believe that there are a certain number of pounds to go around and when that gets tight the pound-gods issue more pounds, kind of like the government did, releasing new money. (And how did the government get the money into the system, I'm wondering. None of it showed up in my band account.)

Anyway, back to the pounds. My friend has lost eight. I've gained eight. As much as I'm thrilled with her loss--and I really am, I am not thrilled to see it show up on me.

If anyone knows how this works please let me know. It's one of the things that keep me awake in the dark of night.

While looking for a photo to go with this post I came upon this: "Fat people are harder to kidnap."

Now you can rest easy. Unless you've lost eight pounds, then you better be a good runner.

I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, I REALLY DIDN'T...BUT I'M GOING TO...LATER

Today I was shopping with someone, I won't mention who. The sales girl came down our isle and removed a bunch of product from the shelf and took the items to a waiting customer.

The sales girl was darling. She was super thin, had on skinny jeans, and was beautiful. I looked at my shopping partner and said, "Wow!" (Women do this--check out other women. We probably do this more than men do. It's a compliment thing, it really is.)

My shopping partner nodded, and then she said, "I made a little tooter just before she came down this aisle. She thought it was you."

And that was when I knew I would like to smack my shopping partner. I didn't want the salesgirl to think I was both stinky and mean so I let it go. But one of these days...I tell you...I will get even, oh yes I will. I'm going to wait until she is totally unsuspecting and then...well, I can't tell you what I'll do. That would ruin the fun. And it's going to be fun.

I'M STUFFED

I found a bunch of my old clothes in the spare bedroom, which used to be Hillary's room, which "poof," almost overnight turned into a junk room--when she got married and moved away, years and years ago--and now it's time to clean it out. And guess what? Some of those clothes even fit--they used to be too tight. How did that happen, I wonder. So I hung them in my closet and now my closet is stuffed and I need to clean it out and I don't want to but if I don't I won't be able to find the new/old clothes and if--by some miracle--I do find them they will be wrinkled and I'll have to iron them and I hate to iron and so what's the use of finding them in the first place? I think I have a self defeating behavior. Besides run-on sentences with no punctuation.


The closet. Can you see how close the hangers are? Those clothes are positively gasping for air. The hangers on the far right are Phil's. See how nicely they are spaced?

I have 27 black items. How am I ever going to wear 27 black items?
I have 17 white shirts. Who in their right mind has 17 white shirts?

And there, on the far, far left are the darling clothes I bought when I only had a few pounds left to loose--okay, twenty. That was about a million years ago and I still have the clothes. They still have tags on. Will I ever get back to that impossible weight? sigh They are still darling. Still stylish. Still too skinny.

This is level two. The every-day-knock-about clothes. They are stuffed just as tight. Oh my.I don't even dare count the shoes.

And some of the clothes are in the dirty clothes or in the to-go-to-the-dry-cleaners stack. Where will they go when they are clean?

I should have left Hillary's old bedroom/the junk room alone.