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If you’ve seen one of my pop song poetry videos, you may have noticed that I’m kind of … um … not skinny. I could write a month’s worth of posts about weight issues, trying to lose weight, gaining weight, exercising, not exercising, and the caloric count of a McDonald’s Quarter Pounder value meal – but I’ll spare you. You’re welcome. Suffice it to say that I’ve changed my eating habits and still can’t lose weight, so I kind of gave up for a while.

Side note: When I was working, I had a key card to get into the building. I’m not good with measurements and I’m not about to get up and find a tape measure, but I’m guessing it was about an eighth-inch thick. Let’s call it 3 credit cards thick, just for the sake of inaccuracy.

When I smoked, I would put the card in my back pocket, go outside to smoke, come back in and put the card back in my purse. One day I left the card in my pocket and sat down. I broke the card. With my ass. (end side note)

Yesterday I went to Wal-Mart to try to find a pair of jeans because I’m down to one pair that fit. They didn’t have anything that would work. As we were walking out, I was grousing* that I couldn’t find anything and I was particularly annoyed that MoC found a pair of jeans in a smaller size.

She pointed out that we carry our weight differently. I pointed out that it shouldn’t matter because I don’t have an ass. She laughed. I said, “I have a flat ass. It goes straight down, no curve at all.”

She looked at me then and said, “It’s flat. But it is kind of wide.”

Oh, it was ON.

As we were walking back to the car, a man was getting in his car, next to the passenger side. I unlocked her door (because MoC doesn’t have a magic button on her key ring to unlock the door) and then kind of pushed past MoC on my way to the driver’s side.

Me: Oh, sorry. It’s just that I have such a wide ass that I didn’t want to hurt you with it.

MoC: But you could have used it to block the sun. It was shining right in my eyes. I need the shade.

Me: Maybe I should get one of those “Wide Load” stickers to put on my ass.

MoC: Or you could just put yellow flags in your hair. You could make that high pitched beeping noise as you back up.

Me: You know I once broke my work entry card. With my ass.

MoC: Really?

Me: My ass is a deadly weapon.

It went on like that until we were laughing too hard to make any sense. But really, she started it.

She’s just lucky I didn’t fart.

*Word suggests I change this to “complaining.”  Word doesn’t like colloquialisms. I don’t, either, but I hate to complain.

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