Dear madam,

Every time I look into your eyes I can’t help but think, “My god, those are gorgeous. Like the golden brown of a perfectly baked pound cake.” And while it’s safe to say that I notice the imperfections – one eye just a shade larger than the other, the scar over your left brow, the occasional dark circles – they don’t make me love you any less. In fact, sometimes when you look less than your best, I think of you as a tragic figure in a novel, that’s been hurt and is in need of tender love and care.

A tragic figure in general, actually...if I’m honest. When I really stop to think about some of the hardships you’ve gone through, it nearly brings me to tears. And is there anything more romantic than tragedy? I daydream about your rescue. About your sudden lottery win, your unexpected discovery and ascent to the top of the best seller lists, your immense sexual satisfaction from the person you want most, and the eradication of Japanese Cherry Blossom lotion and shower gel. All things I know would make you immeasurably happy. I’d give them to you if I were able.

Adoring you isn’t easy, though. I’ve always been worried about what other people would think were they to find out just how involved we really are. It’s not that I’m ashamed of you exactly, but it would be nice if you could behave yourself. Gallivanting around, throwing yourself at people that don’t understand you and appreciate you the way I do...well, it just doesn’t help matters. But it’s time for everyone to know that, for better or worse, it’s the two of us. And you must face it as well – it’s far too late for that “let’s just be friends” line. I love you.

I love the way you wrap your wet hair in a towel, even though you know it’s going to keep coming loose, causing you to curse and flip upside down repeatedly. I love the way you curse, actually – the way you say fuck out loud where everyone can hear, but mutter “darn” to yourself, then get angry because darn is such a pussy sort of word and you’re no pussy. I love the way you walk around the house brushing your teeth, bent slightly at the waist and leaning out so that no toothpaste lands on your shirt...yet it always does.

I love the way you make faces in the bathroom mirror, alternately attempting to look serious and seductive. It’s rarely the latter, but that’s ok because I don’t need you to seduce me. Our love making is perfunctory and that’s as it should be. Our relationship is about deeper emotions and commitment, not finger strokes in the dark (Well, sometimes in the afternoon when you’re stressed. Don’t ever say I don’t take care of your needs.).

I’ve never much liked mouth breathers, but I can’t deny it’s slightly endearing when you watch movies with your jaw lowered like a drawbridge, completely oblivious to anything else. Your lips are a bit too thin and your nose a bit too pointy, but you have simply marvelous tits. I know you’re well aware of this since you’re often seen shaking one or both of them at people...even me, which just makes me laugh.

I love that you often have to remind yourself to make eye contact when meeting someone new – because after some workshop years ago it was stressed that people take you more seriously if you do. Yet consequently, you end up over thinking the whole thing and staring at them in a rather intense, creepy way. I love the way you mingle at parties – staying close to the alcohol and the people you know until you’ve had just enough, plus maybe an Adderall, then making your way around the room introducing yourself like a politician. You’d be a shit politician, by the way.

Your ego is an issue. You have a bit of a problem with thinking everything is about you...all the time. When there’s a nameless insult, you automatically think it’s directed at you. And when there’s a period of silence, you automatically assume you caused it. This is more prevalent on Twitter, but it shows up in other social areas as well. For instance, you tend to believe that every man that smiles at you wants your vagina, even though I’ve told you a million times that isn’t necessarily the case. Those could be pity smiles, my dear. You’ve taken to leaving the house without makeup quite frequently over the past year. Still, I can’t help but admire you in spite of your navel gazing.

In spite of a lot of things, really. Your nose picking habit...in fact, your habit of constantly mentioning your nose picking habit. Your tendency to be louder than 85% of the planet – your voice carries, there’s no need to shout. Your abysmal finances, your refusal to take care of your car or learn how do anything with it other than drive (changing the oil is, I hear, not that difficult), your complete lack of patience, and your uncanny ability to drive people far, far away.

But let’s not dwell on your faults any longer.

My love for you is like a Kamikaze pilot - proudly plummeting toward a target, intent on going out with a bang. We’re perfect for each other. And as long as you’ll let me care for you, I promise I’ll never try to cut you or get you arrested (for anything larger than a misdemeanor), and to let you have sex with whomever you want (provided you haven’t been on an all night drinking binge). Because that’s what a real relationship is all about – trust, sharing, honesty, and the avoidance of herpes.

Always love,

Yourself

Why does everyone keep calling me weird? Is it a fat thing?

The holidays are closing in and we all know what that means!

That’s right, FOOD.

I know some people say it’s all about Jesus, but listen to me: Jesus isn’t food. Unless you’re counting those flat, dissolvable cardboard disks those church goers call “the body of Christ”. I totally don’t.

But here’s the thing. There will be no mounds of macaroni and cheese, brown sugar glazed ham, or buttery, succulent rolls for me.

I’m on a diet.

I know. I know. EVERYONE is on a diet.

But the thing about me and dieting is we hate each other. We’re unfaithful. We tried to make it work for the sake of the kid, but there was just too much bitterness there.

Unfortunately, the doctor says we have to try again. He also acts like the problem with our relationship is 100% my fault, but what the fuck does he know?

The scene: Doctor’s office. The purpose: A doctor’s excuse. Why: Because I didn’t feel well and my throat might have been a little sore. Maybe. A week ago.

I attempted to look as forlorn and sickly as possible while the nurse took my blood pressure and asked me boring questions.

Then I waited, sitting on the crinkly papered exam table and swinging my legs back and forth. Heel struck table: clang! Heel struck table: clang!

Wait...wait...was that? I think it was! “Clang clang clang clang, clangclangclang”...and vocals: “I said what what in the butt! I said what what in the butt! You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt (clang clang clang clang clang clang)! Let’s do it in the butt...Ooooook!”

Enter Doctor Have-No-Soul.

Doc: “Good morning.”

Me: Totally not embarrassed about kicking exam table like a four year old and singing Southpark assholery. “Good morning.”

Doc: “So we aren’t feeling well today?”

Me: “Number one feels ok, but number seven needs a little work.”

Doc: Bland, sheep face. Does not compute.

Me: “Heh, you know...we...multiple personalities....”

Doc: Bland, sheep face. Does not compute.

Me: “Alrighty! No, we don’t feel well today. We didn’t feel well yesterday either.”

Doc: Pulls out stethoscope and starts asking medical questions.

Me: “We might need medicine.”

Doc: More medical questions. Touchy feely, under the shirt action etc.

Me: Medical answers, stray giggle at tickley under the shirt feely action.

After more examining:

Doc: Looks at chart, flips page. Frowny face. “You’ve gained 15lbs since I saw you this time last year.”

Me: “15!”

Doc: “Yes. 15.”

Me: “Shit. Oh gawd! We’re getting fat!” Deliberately bland sheep face.

Doc: “Mmmm.” Fake noncommittal face, but in actuality...judgmental face.

Me: “I’m sick though, so...we’re not talking about weight.”

Doc: “You should be aware that you gained 15lbs in a year.”

Me: “Could you stop saying that out loud?”

Doc: “Yes, but you should be aw...”

Me: “YEAH AWARE, I get it. So what do you think?”

Doc: “I think you should go on a diet.”

Me: “ABOUT MY SICKNESS, NOT MY WEIGHT.”

Doc: Bland, sheep face. “I’ll write you a prescription for antibiotics just in case.”

Me: “Great. Wonderful. Are we finished?”

I got my paperwork and headed to the check out counter. A girl I knew from school was working the desk.

“So, how did it go,” she asked.

“He called us fat.”

She stared at me. “Well, you aren’t”, she said.

I tore out the check I was writing and handed it to her.

“We’ve gained 15lbs in a year.”

She stared at me like I was crazy. “Um...really, you’re not.”

I sighed. “Are we done here?”

She glanced at the check, did a double take and started laughing. “Yeah! Ha! Man, that’s funny!”

On the Memo line at the bottom of the check I’d written: “Cash this before we eat it.”

“Fat people are funny”, I said knowingly.

I went back out to my car and called my boss.

“Well, what did the doctor say”, she asked.

“He said we’re fat.”

“What?!”

I repeated myself, then gave her a run down of the appointment (the edited, I’m too sick to work today version).

“Well, don’t worry about it. Didn’t you say he was an asshole anyway? I thought you were getting a new doctor after the last time when he called you a hypochondriac.”

“We forgot.”

“You forgot to get a new doctor?”

“We haven’t seen this one in a year. Besides, fat people are forgetful.”

“For god’s sake! You are not fa...”

“It’s an alliteration thing, I think. Fat, funny, forgetful, food, freezer, fellatio.”

“You do realize how weird you are right?”

“Yes, we know.”

“What’s fellatio?”

“Gelatin. We have to go now.”

She sighed. “Call me and let me know if you’re coming in tomorrow...and quit saying “we”. It’s weird.”

“We’ll be there. If we can fit through the door. F.....Fit.”

“Yeah, you need to go home and lie down. Feel better.”

“Bye.”

Fast forward.

Last night I was sitting on the couch talking to mom’s boyfriend Ray.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow”, he said.

“Really? I should do it with you. It’s easier to diet with a partner.”

“Ya’ll are crazy. I’m waiting till after the holidays to do any dieting”, mom said.

“That’s the best time to do it”, he replied.

Mom looked at me. “You don’t diet well.”

“Well, I know we’ve had our differences in the past but surely we can hang in there for just 15lbs.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Ok. We’ll see.”

An hour later:

“Who ate my M&M’s”, my sister asked.

“I did”, I admitted from the couch.

“Uh! What the hell!”

“Listen, there has to be one last fling before monogamy starts tomorrow.”

“Mom, what is she talking about?”

“Dieting.”

“Really”, she asked me. “You’re going to diet?”

“Yes.”

“You know Thanksgiving is in like, two weeks.”

“Yes.”

“How are you going to keep from eating all that junk?”

“Fellatio.”

She looked confused. “What’s fellatio?”

“It’s what fat people do to keep from eating....food”, I said.

Mom glared at me. “That’s enough.”

“That’s not what it means, is it”, my sister asked.

I shrugged. “I forget.”

“Whatever. You are SO weird.”

And that’s the story of why we started a diet today.

Now you'll have to excuse us, we're off to lunch.

Not sure what we're having today...but I hear Jesus is low in calories.