On my way to losing a marathon!

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

PSA. No, scratch that, Public Service WARNING.

Hey you.  That's right, you.  Yeah, you, EVERY SINGLE PERSON I KNOW.  I have a favor, of sorts, to ask of you.  Or maybe it's a command.  Or maybe, we'll call it a fair warning.

Anyway, it's this:

STOP SAYING TO MY FACE THAT MY DAUGHTER IS SOOO INCREDIBLY LUCKY TO HAVE HER FATHER'S BODY TYPE.

I get it, okay?  I understand that he is skinny, and she is skinny, and that's just wonderful for the two of them.  But what you're essentially saying is that my daughter really dodged a bullet in that she DOESN'T have MY body.  And while I can't disagree with you on this point, we may be all be missing something here.  I HAVE MY BODY.  It's nice for my dear sweet girl that she doesn't have to go through life looking like ::shudder:: her mother, but unfortunately for yours truly, I DO have to look like me.  And I would really appreciate any help I can get in pretending that this is not such a horrible fate.

I'm pretty sure I've reached my limit on smiling in response to this statement and agreeing that yep, "she's just a little thing" and trying my hardest to live vicariously through my luckylucky daughter and ignore the way I'm being insulted to my face.  And anyway, BEST case scenario, that response just turns me into a crazed stage mother, and then all of a sudden my luckylucky daughter has a pretty serious cocaine habit.

So there it is.  And now that you've all been warned, you should also know that the next person who says this to me is risking a swift-but-intense punch to the face.  But in my defense, come on.  You were asking for it.


Oh right, this was a PSA:

The more you know....

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