If Violence Isn't The Answer, You're Not Asking The Right Question.

Dear Skinny Bitches:

Let me start by letting you know this rant is nothing personal. I've just been feeling really crappy about myself lately and my laziness coupled with my residence in a college town is creating nothing shy of an innate urge go Mel Gibson on SB's. Again, it's not you, Skinny Bitches, it's me.

Hear me out though, because I feel there may be middle ground for us to converge on.

I get it. You're skinny and firm and young and life is good. Really, I do understand. I was there myself just a few years back. But there is one small difference between us and I feel this issue needs to be ironed out before someone gets their SB neck snapped and I end up doing hard time.

Please stop rubbing it in my face. Im gonna have to respectfully request that you not frequent malls or grocery stores between the hours of 8am and 9pm.

Lay off the booty shorts! I mean, those cute little muffins barely covered by the thinest layer of cotton imaginable are nice and all, but it's not truly an ass until it can smother a small dog and/or has doubled in width due to childbirth.

Stop staring at my mom jeans. If they are good enough for Jessica Simpson, they're good enough for me.

Dont try to talk to me and tell me my kids are cute. Each one of them stole a piece of my soul and paid me back by adding a pant size. They are terrorists but you dont find that out until they are too old to drop off at the firehouse. Complimenting them does not win you brownie pts, so keep walking.

Stop saying you can eat anything you want and never have to work out. Stop it or I will stop it for you.

Brush your hair. I know that you are easy on the eyes and that most guys dont pay much attention to your hair, but do me a solid and rake a comb through it before you leave the house. Whatever it is you're doing with it in that ponytail holder is a no-go. I mean, a ponytail is one thing, but ive never seen a pony with such a ridiculously matted ball of bleached fuzz propped up that high on it's ass. uh-uh, nope.

As you can see, SB's..Im not asking too much. I just want some peace. I want to go to the store, buy groceries and not have to see 15 'ghosts of metabolism past' prancing around. One of these days you'll understand. Until then, by all means, pig out and prance like the dickens. Just do it out of my line of sight unless you want it to be your last prance...

All of my love,

-Misty Mills