dear thighs…

Dear Thighs,

Look, I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but we need to have a serious talk.  You have become hoarders, I hate to say it, but it’s true.  You hold on to absolutely everything, and it’s time for you to start letting go of some stuff.  What’s up with the new attachment disorder?

I am very unhappy about this recent development and am forced to take drastic measures to change your behavior.  From now on you will not get your nightly ice cream, your beloved BLT’s, and here comes the kicker…no more cheese.  I am serious.  I am going to drag you around until you start letting go of some of your shit and begin changing your stubborn attitude.

You think those little dimples are cute don’t you?  It’s like you’re smirking at me, I see it you stupid assholes.  I would stab you with forks and make you cry if it wouldn’t hurt and land me in a mental institution.  I would slice you off, fry you in a pan and feed you to the homeless man on the corner of York and Padonia.  But I can’t, and that sucks.  I am forced to deal with you mano a mano.

I am tired of taking you to the beach, cramming you into jeans and shorts and being forced to appreciate skirts and yoga pants that never go to yoga.  You fuckers.  I am pissed and I am going to get you.  I understand that you were a genetic “gift” from my Mother, but enough is enough already.  Game on bitches.



No, this is not me…but I am going to tape this to my refrigerator, and to the inside of my eyelids.

11 replies

  1. I saw the post teaser and the dreaded pic on my WordPress Reader stream. I looked and quickly scrolled down…must not stare at it for too long or risk permanent damage to all parts of me. But. Then. I. Clicked.

    I may never recover from that sight.

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