People always have something to say about my weight. When relatives came over during Christmas, they had to say something about how slim I was (hey, any sentence that ends in "So sad, no?
" isn't going to be a compliment). I mean what the hell people, talk about my IQ, my TOEFL score, the fact that I'm in an apron carving turkey, but nooo
they have to go after my weight. I happen to be one of those people who burn calories in a nanosecond, so forgive me if I'm not sporting a belly at age 23. The fact is, I've grown to like how I look, and until I get over my gymophobia, my weight ain't going anywhere. I just hope that when I hit 40 I look as hot as someone I know ;)
There are some things around the house that I don't mind doing. Like ironing for example. Quite a simple, stress-free thing to do, good upper body workout, and clean, crisp shirts in the process. Lovely. But I don't think the good Lord designed me to do laundry. Well actually, all I really do is load up the clothes into the washing machine and it pretty much does the rest. Now I've done the laundry before, but today I broke the cardinal rule of washing. I mixed a black sweater with my whites. And yes, you've guessed it, I was listening to my mp3 player whilst loading the clothes in. So absent-minded me didn't see the sweater get hurled into the machine until I heard a *bing* and the laundry was complete. Of course, now all my clothes from my T-shirts to my shorts are a brilliant shade of mauve (how do you get mauve
from a black sweater?). So now they're recuperating in a bucket of bleach in the hopes that they can be salvaged.
Vacuuming. I think I'll just stick to vacuuming.
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