YOU'RE fat

Hey boyfriend,
YOU'RE fat. Not me. Yeah, you. You know that gut you've had for three years, the one you keep saying you can get rid of in a week? Still there! So sometimes I eat more than you, and that grosses you out? Ever consider that I might just be hungry sometimes? I exercise—you don't. I watch what I eat—you don't. I've put on 10 pounds in the last three-and-a-half years, and now I'm not hot enough to activate your sexual animal instinct? (Also, what animal instinct are we talking about? A gerbil? Cause it's never really been all that wild.)
You don't give head; you complain about everything; you're neurotic and self-absorbed, and we've had sex a handful (a handful!) of times in the last year. Now you're going on about how “we don't communicate.” Guess what? I listened to you, and all you had to say was that our sexual issues (your sexual issues) are because I'm not fit enough for you, oh master of fitness and moderation. Wow. I have put up with a lot of your shit, but this is too much. And the worst thing is, I'm not fat at all. This is just classic issue-avoidance. But you still made me feel like a worthless piece of garbage (funny, you do that a lot). So...I'm taking my fat ass and waddling out of your life. You, and your bad breath, bad attitude and bad manners are just not worth it. —Shoulda Tapped That Fat Ass

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