Workout Buddies ROCK!

It pays to have a good friend who knows

1. I am fat. And I need to exercise because the little voices in my head are actually Little Debbie Nutty Buddies trying to seduce me. And they are sexy and powerful.

2. I have the dangerous ability to stay in my pj's until carpool at 2pm. I like comfort. And I buy into the theory that cotton is the "fabric of my life". What can I say?

So, given our close relationship, here was my message to her tonight:

Gym. Tomorrow. 9:15am CST until my ass is flat or I'm below 125 pounds. Or I die.

I'm really into options these days.

J

No, I really don't believe my bubble butt will ever be flat. And that number? Covers only a portion of the area between my belly button and my breasts.

And, no, this isn't a cry for help. I'm not suicidal. I just worry, ever-so-slightly, that taxing my body by doing any sort of exercise, in my state of flabbiness, could cause me to need nitroglycerin. By the case.

Please just know that, if I do pass away on the eliptical machine, it won't be because my workout buddy didn't try to revive me. It will probably gross her out trying and afterward she'll have to use enough Listerine to flood a small town.

But if I know one thing, I know she's got my back. Cellulite and all.