All the lovely people...

So I didn't workout this morning. Last night, after working all day at school and then heading over to Huntington in Coon Rapids for four hours, and stopping at the townhouse to feed the cats, I finally made it home at 9pm. I was dead on my feet. Plus, my ass muscles are so tight from all the squats and cycling and never-enough-stretching-yes-I-know-I-should-stretch-more-thank-you, that I easily rationalized sleeping in a little and skipping Wednesday spinning. Grim will probably throw a party.

You can see what kind mental state I was in. I still was dead when I woke up and it was easy to rationalize in my pleasure centered brain that I deserved a large Caribou Mint Condition with an extra shot of espresso and an everything bagel with onion and chive cream cheese from Bruggers for breakfast. I mean, not that I have to defend myself, but I didn't eat dinner last night and I am going to have cereal for lunch, so it's totally fine to splurge a little, right? Right. (Mom and Dad don't you dare say anything about this when I get home.)

So I order my coffee and I head over to the connected bagel place and order my bagel. The shop is filled with very fancy, shiny people (one guy was driving an Audi convertible and made a loud squeaking noise when he got out of his car and stepped ankle deep into a puddle. It was pretty funny). I'm waiting by the register for my bagel with three Martha Stewart look-alikes and two Tom Brokaws- all of whom are sort of snarling at me. The group are all looking me up and down because we are playing that fun suburban game called "Which-one-of-these-is-not-like-the-other-Which-one-of-these-does-not-belong?" And I totally stick out with my beat up Tevas and wet hair. Plus I'm fat and there aren't that many fat people in Perfectville. At least that I have seen. Maybe they keep them locked up. Or maybe I haven't discovered the fat part of Perfectville yet. I console myself with the fact that I totally could take them all, even if I just sit on them.

The girl comes over brandishing my bagel- and I can tell its my bagel because she is making eye contact with me. Now, this girl doesn't like me, and didn't like me when she took my order. Don't ask me how I could tell, I just could. And I can see in her eyes what she is about to do, and I am silently begging her with my now large puppy dog eyes, please-don't-do-it-please-don't-do-it...

and she yells, as loud as she can so that people in both Caribou and Bruggers can hear her, "EVERYTHING FAT FATTY BAGEL WITH EXTRA FAT FATTY REGULAR ONION AND CHIVE CREAM CHEESE FOR THE FAT GIRL". Everyone turns to stare at me because there is, of course, no one else in the entire world who would order something so disguesting. I hang my head and step forward, extending my hand. She holds the bagel with two fingers like it contains kryptonite, and drops it in my outstretched hand. One of the Martha gasps, she must have never seen anything so horrific before. Then the girl turns to Martha and says sweetly, "Fat free plain bagel without carbs with fat-free-carbless-tasteless-calorieless-cream cheese for someone who knows how to take care of themself". Martha takes it and turns to go. We lock eyes. I can't take it anymore.

I stick out my tongue at her. And leave.