Don't Give In To The Munchies

Girl-woman lays on her bed with her laptop on her belly typing on blogger a story about herself. She is pale skinned, with smatterings of brown freckles covering her skin, wild originally brown hair, now dirty red-brown, green yellow eyes of differing intensities and rose red lips, small but plump. She has MSn running on the laptop, a couple of chat windows open speaking to would be suitors and friends. She also has a video of herself running in the background. In it she is stoned and raving on and on about palo santo and drawing signs and lines on herself with the burnt charcoal ends of the palo santo (Holy Stick? Hollystick? Hollywood? Holy Holly?).

The story is this: this girl of pleasant curves is on a motherfucking diet. Although it's not a diet per se, she is controlling what she places in her rosebud mouth. She's passed from being pleasantly plump to being overweight and a pretty fat. God, everything, anything but a pretty fat. You know, the girl who has a pretty face "if only she weren't so fat". Gorda bonita. Gorda con ritmo. Pero gorda igual! So this girl is on a mission to lose some weight, gain some muscle and tone, and return to her original size 7/8 jean size (Sir Mix Alot made that song for her). She wants to look bangin' and she just doesn´t feel it when all her jeans don´t fit her ass and she has double chins and C cups for heaven´s sake! Ever has she ever been a size C, so the weight gain is a blessing and a curse. Still though, that ass has to be dealt with.

She gets up from the bed to slither out of the jeans and change into her pj´s, but not before she checks herself out in the mirror, looking at her flaws, looking at the results that working out have brought forth, picturing what she could look like if she sticks this diet and exercising out (image: HOT). In that moment when she is putting on her t-shirt that serves as her pijama she realizes that if she stands up again she will have no control over herself and amble straight towards the white cheddar popcorn in the closet (anybody say Smartfood?) like a hummingbird to a papo. The munchies were eating away at her will, like vultures fighting over the last remnants of a carcass, like mosquitoes swarming a tourist. They had to be stopped. Immediately.

She lays down on the bed with the heavy realization on her shoulders that her munchies were strong, but her will charged into action and refused that shit. There is a goal, a meta, a reason why she is controlling her maw and that reason is stronger than any horde of munchies could ever be. This bitch had water and she was willing to feel a bit hungry in order to look good. Pass the water, girl on a mission.