I Hope My Ass Smothers My Scale, Because I Hate That Lying Bitch

My scale lied to me. Like, for real. If it were Pinocchio, its nose would be 10 pounds long. There's the long version of this story, which involves doctors and a contact case and a demon cat and a sobbing session and a really uncomfortable gym employee. Then there's the short story, which is this: My cat knocked my contact case off of the bathroom counter, and the case got wedged underneath the bathroom scale, so when I stood on it, it made it seem like I was 10 pounds lighter than I actually was, but I didn't know the

My Mom Offered to Send Me to Fat Camp.... On My 30th Birthday

Yeah, that's pretty much the whole story right there. However, I've been encouraged to wrap some words around this, but that only makes me want to wrap bacon around a slice of pizza. My mother assumes that's how I start my day anyway, so might as well... Truthfully, I'd super rather not discuss my obesity with y'all, but my hypnotherapist swears I can only achieve my goddamned "desired state of calm perfection" if I embrace the cathartic process of expressing myself. She wants me to use this blog to write about something real. I want her to get real about