Periodically, my body says, “Listen up bitch! The stomach is eating your liver! You need to eat some goddamn food!”
And I’m like, “What? I have the metabolism of a hummingbird. I long for a grapefruit.”
Despite any and all attempts to gain weight by weightlifting or being ridiculously sedentary, my body refuses to get any heavier. Which is fortunate…because I pull of the skinny palely-loitering white boy act well. I am 6”1’. I weigh 155lbs, and a lot of that is left over muscle from when actually did go to the gym.
Which brings me to the point at hand. Every several months, I am like, “Goddamn! I am hungry.”
And today was one of those days. It was precipitated by my mom sending a finals care packaged that had kashi crackers and homemade chocolate chip cookies/ chocolate-mint biscotti.
And this morning when I got up, Craig was like, “I have a package for you.” And I opened it—and found to my surprise an industrial 36 pack count of wild-berry skittles! I immediately ripped off my shirt (yes, right there in the kitchen) and rubbed the exterior of the purple cardboard box against my rock-hard, tanned chest, all the while tossing my head back, closing my eyes and making moaning sounds. 36! 36 fucking packs! That is 8,640 calories.
When I got home, Aaron was like, “So…I am guessing that will last about 3 days?”
And I was like, “Bitch please.” More like 2 days. I might become one of those fat people that need to be removed from their homes by demolishing a wall and lifting them with a crane.