So, at work today, it was a fucking nice ass day. Therefore, the restaurant was busy as fuck. And because it was warm, I decided to wear shorts. I don't like to get overheated, and recently I have been working these seven and eight hour shift, I get home with a fever and I feel like shit.
Except that today, my lady problems decided it was time to rear their collective ugly head. It started off on a Tuesday. There was this smoking hot guy at the library, and I had an intense urge to throw him onto the closest desk and bang him. I call this stage one of Mother Nature. On Thursday, the sort of mean guy in my English class seemed irresistible. I thought, I want this dude NOW.
Then stage two happened. That was today. I woke up with a little ache-owie in my side. At first, I thought that I had slept funny. But then when I finally did roll out of bed and start getting ready for work, all I felt was chunky and sausagey. I couldn't pull up a pair of pants because they were way too tight around my thighs. And my chin was breaking out. I went and found my looser shorts, put those on, and headed to work.
All day, that pain in my side was there, all sharp and annoying. And at some point; like four o'clock, I realized that it was those annoying ass cramps accompanied with the cycle. I stopped being so annoyed by feeling awkward and large, (the simple explanation: I get bloated.) and started to just focus on getting through the night. Once I got home, I could take some ibuprofen and sleep off the cramps.
Instead, all day today, my mother fucking manager was busy trying to figure out how to tell me that my ass was WAY TOO BIG for my shorts. Instead of just pulling my into the office and being like, "Hey, your shorts are too tight," he told the night manager to give me a heads up.
So, the night manager bumbled around not saying anything all night. Of course, he had to let me know somehow, or the day manager, would be annoyed. So my friend, Ron, the host manager, was leaving for the night and my night manager wrangled him in to tell me.
Now, Ron is gay. And loves to tell me what an amazing ass I have. I have a complex about my amazing ass. It's called "My Ass Is Amazing Complex." I believe that my ass is amazing. So Ron had no qualms with letting me know that my ass had been the topic of discussion all day.
"Manager says you can't wear those shorts anymore," he told me at the end of my shift. I, of course, asked why. Adding that these shorts were short but not super tight. "Well, he thinks there are too tight. I don't. You ass looks great. But her thinks that your ass needs bigger shorts."
"So I have a fat ass." I was really annoyed. I felt bloated and sausagey and oily and pimply and sweaty and gross. And apparently my manager thought the same fucking thing.
"Well, I think it's great. But he doesn't." Or he probably does think my ass looks great and it makes him uncomfortable since he has known me since I was sixteen. What fucking ever.
I was pissed. Not at Ron, of course. He dealt the blow with kind words and a hug. But my manager was obviously a sissy crybaby that couldn't deal with one fat-assed worker. What pissed me off even more was that I know of five other bitches on one hand I could name that wore shorts way tighter and way shorter than mine. And they were always sporting muffin tops and thunder thighs. So why the fuck was he picking on me? I have know idea, but I am basically really mad.
And I get to look forward to the "joys of womanhood" yet again. I will probably only succeed in feeling more fat and bloated and sausagey and like a chunky-freaking-monkey. Yay... stage three.
Fucking A.
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