This is a blog about growing up, I suppose.
Don’t Feed the Bear
Yesterday at lunch:
Roommate 1: [waves a Zaxby’s chicken tender in my face] Come on, Lauren, you know you want it!
Roommate 2: Do it, Lauren!
The Guy No One Actually Invited: [laughing]
Me: Uhhh no, I don’t want it. I have carrots and cashews and clementines!
Roommate 1: Please? [waves chicken tender] Just have it. I don’t want it. Just eat it.
Roommate 3: Come on, Lauren. It’s not a big deal.
The Guy No One Actually Invited: [still laughing]
Me: Uhhh
Roommate 1: Eat it. You know you want to!
Me: [eats the stupid chicken tender]
Roommate 3: Hooray!
Roommate 2: I knew you would…
Roommate 1: See, if you wave something in front of her long enough, she will eat it!
Roommate 3: We know that already!!
Me: ….
… I think this says horrible, horrible things about my self control.
I’m trying not to be bitter about it. So I’m just going to wear a sign around my neck that says “Don’t feed the bear.”
Haha overdramatic signs aside, I felt like poop when I heard that. So today, I’m going to hit the gym hard and eat my fruits and vegetables and not much else.
I know I’m being overly sensitize… but does anyone else have this problem?
"Don’t be a woman that needs a man. Be a woman a man needs." |
| ~ (via chynnajoy) |
