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 by Jen Lancaster
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Family Life, Biography, Authors; American, Cultural Heritage, Women, 21st Century, Jeanne, Lancaster; Jen, Authors; American - 21st century
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advantage of their free trial offer but ended up liking the place so much that we decided to join. After paying our gas bill, we funded our membership by listing a couple of things on Craigslist, including an exercise bike. The bike sold the very first day, largely due to the ad I posted:
TWO FAT PEOPLE ADMIT DEFEAT
Two fat people are looking to dump their Excel 395 Recumbent Magnetic Exercise Bike for $100 OBO.
Although we don’t know from a lot of firsthand experience, this terrific bike comes with:
• Adjustable seat (extralarge to accommodate even the biggest caboose)
• Adjustable tension (which apparently would have been an excellent cardiovascular workout, had we ever gotten past the second level)
• Computerized speed, distance, odometer, timer, and calorie display
• Less than 250 miles on the odometer
• Cup holder (and, really, isn’t everything better with a cup holder?)
Don’t need an exercise bike? No problem!
The Excel 395 also makes a great clothes-drying rack.
Please buy our bike and get it out of our house so it’s no longer a daily reminder of how we failed in our quest for fitness. Also? We’re tired of dusting it. Thanks!
P.S. It will fit in an SUV, but we can also deliver it for an additional fee, although do you really want two sweaty fat people having simultaneous heart attacks in your stairwell?
P.P.S. Naturally, we’ll need cash because we’ll probably use the money for pie.
I continue, “Now there’s no way I’ll skip my workout if I have to go there to wash my hair anyway. Problem solved. Except . . .” I trail off.
“Now what?
“I won’t be home on Monday.”
“I will, so I can let the chimney sweeps in.”
“I kind of wanted to see them.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Fletch looks puzzled for a minute, and then chokes back a laugh. “You think Dick Van Dyke and a band of sooty Cockneys are going to sing and dance in the basement, don’t you?”
“No.” Maybe.
As Fletch wanders off to the kitchen for more coffee, he calls, “Oh, I forgot to mention it—the HVAC guys said the trapped gas was making us sick. They said once it’s vented, we’ll have a lot fewer headaches and far less lethargy, and we’ll feel much better because of the improved air quality.” He heads into his office at the back of the house, and I can hear him turn on the space heater before closing the door.
I chew on this information for a moment. This is great news! (Except for the us-almost-dying-from-toxic-gas part.) The leak means all the lying around I’ve done lately is technically not my fault. My problem hasn’t been lethargy; it’s been chemistry! Nuts to you, you vicious inner critic! Now you can go back to helping me mock others! No wonder I didn’t pop out of bed, don spandex, and head to the gym for a prebreakfast workout like I’d pledged to do every night this week when I went to sleep. How was I supposed to take the dogs on their power walk when my system was being compromised by noxious fumes? And my body was slowly being poisoned, no wonder it craved Snickers bars and not salads!
But, I wonder, how do I explain all the years of lazy prior to our gas leak?
TO: stacey_at_work
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Next Week?
Sorry to have missed you last night—let’s plan a time to get together when you’re back in town. Except for thinking up reasons I’m allowed to skip the gym, my schedule is almost totally empty. (Today’s reason is because I have a cold. Yesterday’s was the dogs seemed sad. Tomorrow I can probably milk the cold angle again, with the one-two punch of also being mad at my mother.)
See you soon?
Jen
TO: [email protected]
FROM: stacey_at_work
SUBJECT: Re: Next Week?
Some excuses I use to avoid the gym that you are welcome to borrow:
1. Mercury is in retrograde. As is my ass.
2. My pedicure color clashes with my only clean workout outfit.
3. My inner child thinks walking on a treadmill is stupid and boring and only
TWO FAT PEOPLE ADMIT DEFEAT
Two fat people are looking to dump their Excel 395 Recumbent Magnetic Exercise Bike for $100 OBO.
Although we don’t know from a lot of firsthand experience, this terrific bike comes with:
• Adjustable seat (extralarge to accommodate even the biggest caboose)
• Adjustable tension (which apparently would have been an excellent cardiovascular workout, had we ever gotten past the second level)
• Computerized speed, distance, odometer, timer, and calorie display
• Less than 250 miles on the odometer
• Cup holder (and, really, isn’t everything better with a cup holder?)
Don’t need an exercise bike? No problem!
The Excel 395 also makes a great clothes-drying rack.
Please buy our bike and get it out of our house so it’s no longer a daily reminder of how we failed in our quest for fitness. Also? We’re tired of dusting it. Thanks!
P.S. It will fit in an SUV, but we can also deliver it for an additional fee, although do you really want two sweaty fat people having simultaneous heart attacks in your stairwell?
P.P.S. Naturally, we’ll need cash because we’ll probably use the money for pie.
I continue, “Now there’s no way I’ll skip my workout if I have to go there to wash my hair anyway. Problem solved. Except . . .” I trail off.
“Now what?
“I won’t be home on Monday.”
“I will, so I can let the chimney sweeps in.”
“I kind of wanted to see them.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Fletch looks puzzled for a minute, and then chokes back a laugh. “You think Dick Van Dyke and a band of sooty Cockneys are going to sing and dance in the basement, don’t you?”
“No.” Maybe.
As Fletch wanders off to the kitchen for more coffee, he calls, “Oh, I forgot to mention it—the HVAC guys said the trapped gas was making us sick. They said once it’s vented, we’ll have a lot fewer headaches and far less lethargy, and we’ll feel much better because of the improved air quality.” He heads into his office at the back of the house, and I can hear him turn on the space heater before closing the door.
I chew on this information for a moment. This is great news! (Except for the us-almost-dying-from-toxic-gas part.) The leak means all the lying around I’ve done lately is technically not my fault. My problem hasn’t been lethargy; it’s been chemistry! Nuts to you, you vicious inner critic! Now you can go back to helping me mock others! No wonder I didn’t pop out of bed, don spandex, and head to the gym for a prebreakfast workout like I’d pledged to do every night this week when I went to sleep. How was I supposed to take the dogs on their power walk when my system was being compromised by noxious fumes? And my body was slowly being poisoned, no wonder it craved Snickers bars and not salads!
But, I wonder, how do I explain all the years of lazy prior to our gas leak?
TO: stacey_at_work
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Next Week?
Sorry to have missed you last night—let’s plan a time to get together when you’re back in town. Except for thinking up reasons I’m allowed to skip the gym, my schedule is almost totally empty. (Today’s reason is because I have a cold. Yesterday’s was the dogs seemed sad. Tomorrow I can probably milk the cold angle again, with the one-two punch of also being mad at my mother.)
See you soon?
Jen
TO: [email protected]
FROM: stacey_at_work
SUBJECT: Re: Next Week?
Some excuses I use to avoid the gym that you are welcome to borrow:
1. Mercury is in retrograde. As is my ass.
2. My pedicure color clashes with my only clean workout outfit.
3. My inner child thinks walking on a treadmill is stupid and boring and only
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