Burlap Sacks or Why No One Will Ever Love Me (Ever)

so, jeff, a friend of mine, recently reminded me that he is taller, more lithe and generally more attractive than me. he did it in the most back-handed way, which was to basically tell me that he is so tall, it makes things difficult for him.

like the scene in bambi where he's trying to ice skate:

but you see how cute bambi is?

then jeff goes on to tell me that it's probably easy for me to skate and what not since i'm so short and squat. you know, all of that low center of gravity crap that is basically telling me that i'm like a lumpy sack of potatoes:

you think that this would be enough. i mean, i'm already crying (you want to point out how puffy my eyes get when i'm in TEARS, jeff??) and everything. but no. he goes ON to say :

sorry. if it makes you feel any better most shirts fit me like drapes.

hm...nope. doesn't make me feel better. i struggled long and hard to get into my t-shirt this morning since my head is too big, my neck too fat and my body all lumpy, so the fact that no one makes clothing to fit your skinny-ass frame doesn't actually make me feel better.

what does? the prospect of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream and hibernating through the winter:

(okay, so this isn't ENTIRELY me, but no one creepily takes pictures of me while i'm asleep. at least, not to my knowledge....)

anyway, thanks jeff. no, no, really. i like sleeping ALONE FOREVER since no one will ever love me....

sniffle.



PROOF!