Trading in My Boobs
Recently after a screen for a wellness program at work I’ve made a concerted effort to eat differently. I wont say better, because I eat healthy and I exercise, but as I round my third decade I’m definitely aware that I can’t get away with some of the eating habits I have in the past. So, I’m rather annoyed to see Facebook pictures of my brother-in-law who is nine months older then I am and has recently toned up.
Me: When did my brother-in-law get arm muscles? I’m weirded out here.
Sara: THAT’S WHAT I SAID!
Me: But then, you know, if I had a wife who cooked for me like my sister does for him, I’d probably eat better and be thinner too.
There is a pause while Sara takes a second to think of how to respond. I’m hoping for pissed-off camaraderie since she’s only six months younger than I am, and if I’m gonna be pissed off about something ridiculous I really like it if someone is pissed off along side me.
Sara: We have boobs? Maybe that’s supposed to make up for it?
Not the direction I thought this conversation was going. But I think about it for a moment.
Me: I’m not all that interested in my own boobs.
Sara: Me either, but they do occasionally do nice things for me and/or get me things.
I take a second to think this over and peer down at myself.
Me: I’d rather have a higher metabolism.
In conclusion, I’m trading in my boobs for a higher metabolism if anyone can cut that deal for me. Otherwise I’ll begin taking applications for a wife. Duties will include grocery shopping, cooking, packing lunches, cleaning (especially the bathroom), making the bed, and watering the plants. You will need to provide proof of a side job which will support your eating, shopping, and living habits. But I‘ll do the dishes. . . . . . . . . as long as there is a dishwasher.
[Edit: Post edited to add picture and I tried to correct the formatting. But that didn't so much work.]
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