I didn't need you, you idiot. I picked you. And then you picked me back.
You know what sucks? The (really old, like, older than me) bathroom scales I have at my house? Their name. And I don't mean, like George. My scales aren't called George. I don't know how these rumours about my physical relationship with objects start. YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY LOVE FOR GEORGE.
Andbutsoyeah anyway, these scales are not called 'scales' or 'weight doodad' or 'mass-o-meter' or 'george' or anything logical and pleasant like that. Do you know what they're called?
Juuuuuuuuust in case I'm curious about my beauty levels for today, I have the handy dandy Beauty Checker! Didn't you know that beauty is only determined by your weight in kilograms or stones?
I mean, I should probably just be thankful that it doesn't look like this above the legitimate measurements:
|---yeah, alright ---|--- bit chubby, aren't you love? ---|--- why are you even bothering? ---|
70 ' ' ' ' 75 ' ' ' ' 80 ' ' ' ' 85 ' ' ' ' 90 ' ' ' ' 95 ' ' ' ' 100 ' ' ' ' 105 ' ' ' ' 110 ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ''''''
And no, if you weigh somewhere in that range, I don't think you're fat. Those could be the stone measurements. YOU DON'T KNOW.
So, I find the cruel irony here amusing; there can be a huge crackdown on body image in the media and other public domains, when clearly (see above) the problems are starting IN THE HOME!
You thought you were safe.
You thought everything was going to be O-kay.
So it was with absolute consuming horror that you discovered, one day when you were innocently getting out of the shower, the guilt-inducing, self esteem-destroying MONSTER in your very own bathroom!
And now, you can't run. You can't hide. Those two little words beckon to you, wanting you to come closer, just a little bit, just slip a toe on there to check your breauty.
"Oh, Adrienne. Don't you want to know how beautiful you are? It'll only take a second and then you'll know if you're the fairest in the land. So simple. Just stand and I'll even do all the work for you."
YEAH SCALES?! Oh, yeah, BEAUTY CHECKER? Well, get the hell out, you jerky bitch, I don't want your opinions here!
You can masquerade as a legitimate soure all you want but you are not being a valid reference to my beauty levels! AHHHHH
I'LL KILL YOU.
*rages* (like Jad *)
Sorry. Inanimate objects and my perception of their opinion on animate things seem to have greater bearing on my life than perhaps it should.
Maybe I'll leave you there before I completely enter the realm of the criminally insane.
Day 7 - A song that reminds you of a certain event:
Exerciser by Rhubarb
we're talking chemistry and open-ended conversations. i never promised myself to you but i wish you would.
* Oooooh, work humour.