Last week I reported that I would be returning to the hallowed halls of Jenny Craig it to attempt to shave *mumble mumble* pounds off my generous derriere.
Upon entering the office I was greeted by the staff with "RBR! So good to have you back!"
Yes, I get a Cheers-esque greeting at the local weightloss center.
Me and my perky little consultant, who weighs less than my right thigh and is approximately 22 years old (just ONCE I want an old, fat-ish consultant that does not make me feel like the hunchback of Notre fucking Dame) Anyhoo... we head back to the Room of Doom that houses the torture device that we women hang our all of our self worth on,
the fucking scale.
We will call my consultant, Ms. Perky Tits, 'Jenny' for this portion of the post because 'Ms. Perky Tits' is just mean and too long to type.
Ms. Perky Tits, errr.... I mean, Jenny: So, hon, what brings you back to Jenny Craig today?
side note: I do sooooo adore when people half my age and weight refer to me as "hon"
RBR thinks: Well, sugarlips, I was soooooo happy with my body shape and weight that I thought I would swing on by and gloat in front of all your fat ass clients. Isn't that what most people usually come here for?"
RBR says: Well, *rubbing my own fat ass* I found a few pounds I lost here before and I wanted to give them back
Jenny: *giggle, head tilt* Awwww. Hop up on the scale, hon, and let's see where we are at today.
Dreaded, stupid, fucking JC scale: [censored]
Mathematicians that have never seen numbers that large: *gasp*
Astronauts in outer space that can undoubtedly see my ass from there: *gasp*
RBR attempting to keep from dying of embarrassment: *throws arms up in a victory V* We have a personal best!
I just finished my 47,000th first week of JC. Weigh in today at 3:40. I will keep you posted
17 hours ago