Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer Read Online Free PDF

priorities straight,” Fletch chimes in.
    I continue, “I wish I had that kind of external motivation right now, because it’s certainly not coming from within. I’m conflicted—I know I need to do this. I mean, I don’t want to have a heart attack, and a stroke would totally mess up my smile, and yet I can’t get past the idea of not eating what I’d like.”
    “Me, too. Intellectually, I understand why it’s important for my body to carry less fat, but I can’t say I’m unhappy with who I am, regardless of my shape.” Stacey has beautiful hair, perfect features, and a positive self-concept, and I swear men throw themselves at her wherever we go. She doesn’t need to lose an ounce to be her gorgeous self.
    “Exactly! We should start a Girls with High Self-Esteem and Possibly Cholesterol support group. Seriously, though, I know I should eat less and exercise more, so I started going to the West Loop Gym about a year ago. I’m there a lot, but I just don’t see results.”
    “Have you done any personal training? I work out with mine three days a week, and I’m down about thirty pounds since last year. What’s important is, I feel good.”
    “Oh, yeah,” I reply. “I had a few sessions with a trainer last year. The problem was, I’d work my ass off, and then I’d come home and reward myself with something delicious. ”
    Stacey nods. “It’s hard not to.”
    “When I go to the gym now, I’m still waiting for the endorphins to kick in. It doesn’t matter if I kill myself every day, I’ve yet to experience anything like a high,” I tell her.
    Stacey shifts, and Loki takes this as an invitation to join her and Fletch on the couch. “I love working out with my trainer, Gabe, because he’s a really good friend. But doing it on my own? Not so much. I dislike every single step I take on the goddamn treadmill. Like, when does it get fun?”
    “Lately, I’ve been on this kick where I don’t eat anything I can’t pronounce,” Fletch tells us. He’s dropped ten pounds with this little trick since the Bus Incident.
    Fucking show-off.
    “Yeah, I tried that, and then I read the label on a package of Hostess cupcakes. It’s amazing what I can pronounce,” says Stacey.
    “I’m more of a fruit-pie girl myself, but I totally agree,” I reply. “Bottom line is, the weight went on so easily—seems like it should come off the same way.”
    “But so far you’ve done nothing,” Fletch mentions.
    “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I snap. “It will happen, just not tonight, OK?”
    “Whoa, sorry. Just trying to participate in the conversation. ” Fletch moves Loki and his potentially leather-puncturing claws back onto the floor. Loki goes over a few feet to lie on his squashy down bed, where visions of salad tossing will soon dance in his head. “Maybe you should start the show?” he deflects.
    I press PLAY on the TiVo remote and Top Chef begins. Five minutes of braising, sautéing, and roasting later, I look sheepishly at Fletch and Stacey and ask, “Um, is anyone else hungry?”
    TO: carol_at_home, wendy_at_home, jen_at_work
    CC: angie_at_home
    FROM: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: scenes from a parking garage
    Setting: In the car, circling the lot two levels underneath Nordstrom.
    Me: My God, it’s crowded in here. We’re never going to find a space.
    Angie: (gestures toward cars parked perpendicular to those already in spaces) Well, why don’t you park like that?
    Me: Those are the valets’.
    Angie: (squints at a Lexus SUV with a Notre Dame alumni sticker on it) Wow, the valets really have nice cars.
    Me: (turning to look at Angie, incredulous) I meant they’re valet parked.
    Angie: Oh. I guess that makes more sense.
    Scene ends as I almost drive us into a pole because I’m busy laughing myself into a pants-wetting asthma attack.
    See you soon?
    Jen
    P.S. Ang, I wouldn’t mock you if you hadn’t infected me with the plague.
    P.P.S. Ten points to you for not mentioning how much weight