Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer by Jen Lancaster
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Family Life, Biography, Authors; American, Cultural Heritage, Women, 21st Century, Jeanne, Lancaster; Jen, Authors; American - 21st century
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curious, I open the door and bring in the box. It’s about the size of a coffee table, and it’s addressed to me from . Huh. I don’t remember ordering anything recently. The reserves from my royalty check are dwindling, and I’ve been really, really careful about spending money. I enter the kitchen, pushing aside the doggie gate, releasing the beasts, who promptly show their gratitude with more goosing.
I root through the junk drawer until I find a box cutter. I slit the box open along the seam and . . .
Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
Head!
Box!
In!
There’s a motherfucking human head inside this box!
Which means a serial killer read about my fear of lifting a toilet seat and finding a severed head and he’s sent me one !
I am too freaked out right now to figure out how he’d (a) get my address and (b) convince Amazon to ship this to me. Sweet Jesus, a head, a head , oh, my God, I’m going to diiiiiiiiiiiiieeeee!
The room gets dark and spinny and I feel my knees go out underneath me. I grab on to the box as I go down, and right before I hit the floor, I spot a soothingly familiar shade of pink.
Wait.
Severed heads aren’t pink.
With sparkly earrings.
And golden blond tresses.
And shimmery rose pink lip gloss.
Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s not a human head at all. It’s a Barbie Fashion Fever Grow ’N Style hair-styling head.
What the ... ?
How did ... ?
I pace around the kitchen, gingerly holding the head at arm’s length as I work out the details. I scan the receipt and see that it was me who ordered this, but I have no memory of that. I check the date on the order and cross-reference it with the white-board calendar we keep on our fridge.
Wait a sec; I ordered this the day I started on Ambien. Dr. Awesome did warn me about rare instances of people sleep-eating and sleep-driving while on Ambien, but she said nothing about sleep-Barbie-ing. At the moment I’m almost grateful at being busted by the UPS guy while doing downward-facing flab-hang, because this? Is way more embarrassing.
I stuff the box in the little den off the kitchen, saving all the packing receipts so I can send the damn thing back. I mean, really; I’m almost forty—what the hell am I possibly going to do with a Barbie head ?
After taking another Ambien last night, I wake up in the guest room again this morning, and notice that someone during the night has not only retrieved and unpacked the Barbie head, but also styled her with a big back-combed updo, thick black eyeliner, off-white lipstick, and a Pucci-style head wrap.
Well, how about that?
My shame looks exactly like Nancy Sinatra.
TO: angie_at_home
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: To carb or not to carb, that is the question
Hey,
Help me out—I’m trying to figure out whether or not I should shitcan Atkins and try something new. Here’s what I’ve come up with by way of pros and cons.
PRO QUITTING ATKINS :
100% less crying when Fletch eats a plate of cookies and a glass of milk
Having my veins filled with blood again and not just bacon grease
Peeing in the toilet rather than on my hand while holding a ketosis stick
Using the same soiled hand to cover up my stinky ketosis breath
Booze, sweet, sweet booze
Not having the urge to primal scream when encountering once-beloved cheese counter
All things french fried, cottage fried, waffled fried, mashed, scalloped, au gratined, hash browned, totted, boiled, chipped, Lyonnaised, puffed, broiled, parsleyed, and baked
CON QUITTING ATKINS :
[crickets]
[crickets]
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
But if I end Atkins, then what do I try?
Jen
P.S. Three more Barbies arrived in the mail today. WTF is wrong with me?
CHAPTER SEVEN
I Wish I Could Quit You, Olive Garden
’m heading to New York tomorrow for some meetings, and I’m almost beside myself with anxiety. The thing is, I’m not worried about my appointments even though they’re important. Rather, I’ve spent the last week agonizing over the
I root through the junk drawer until I find a box cutter. I slit the box open along the seam and . . .
Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
Head!
Box!
In!
There’s a motherfucking human head inside this box!
Which means a serial killer read about my fear of lifting a toilet seat and finding a severed head and he’s sent me one !
I am too freaked out right now to figure out how he’d (a) get my address and (b) convince Amazon to ship this to me. Sweet Jesus, a head, a head , oh, my God, I’m going to diiiiiiiiiiiiieeeee!
The room gets dark and spinny and I feel my knees go out underneath me. I grab on to the box as I go down, and right before I hit the floor, I spot a soothingly familiar shade of pink.
Wait.
Severed heads aren’t pink.
With sparkly earrings.
And golden blond tresses.
And shimmery rose pink lip gloss.
Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s not a human head at all. It’s a Barbie Fashion Fever Grow ’N Style hair-styling head.
What the ... ?
How did ... ?
I pace around the kitchen, gingerly holding the head at arm’s length as I work out the details. I scan the receipt and see that it was me who ordered this, but I have no memory of that. I check the date on the order and cross-reference it with the white-board calendar we keep on our fridge.
Wait a sec; I ordered this the day I started on Ambien. Dr. Awesome did warn me about rare instances of people sleep-eating and sleep-driving while on Ambien, but she said nothing about sleep-Barbie-ing. At the moment I’m almost grateful at being busted by the UPS guy while doing downward-facing flab-hang, because this? Is way more embarrassing.
I stuff the box in the little den off the kitchen, saving all the packing receipts so I can send the damn thing back. I mean, really; I’m almost forty—what the hell am I possibly going to do with a Barbie head ?
After taking another Ambien last night, I wake up in the guest room again this morning, and notice that someone during the night has not only retrieved and unpacked the Barbie head, but also styled her with a big back-combed updo, thick black eyeliner, off-white lipstick, and a Pucci-style head wrap.
Well, how about that?
My shame looks exactly like Nancy Sinatra.
TO: angie_at_home
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: To carb or not to carb, that is the question
Hey,
Help me out—I’m trying to figure out whether or not I should shitcan Atkins and try something new. Here’s what I’ve come up with by way of pros and cons.
PRO QUITTING ATKINS :
100% less crying when Fletch eats a plate of cookies and a glass of milk
Having my veins filled with blood again and not just bacon grease
Peeing in the toilet rather than on my hand while holding a ketosis stick
Using the same soiled hand to cover up my stinky ketosis breath
Booze, sweet, sweet booze
Not having the urge to primal scream when encountering once-beloved cheese counter
All things french fried, cottage fried, waffled fried, mashed, scalloped, au gratined, hash browned, totted, boiled, chipped, Lyonnaised, puffed, broiled, parsleyed, and baked
CON QUITTING ATKINS :
[crickets]
[crickets]
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
But if I end Atkins, then what do I try?
Jen
P.S. Three more Barbies arrived in the mail today. WTF is wrong with me?
CHAPTER SEVEN
I Wish I Could Quit You, Olive Garden
’m heading to New York tomorrow for some meetings, and I’m almost beside myself with anxiety. The thing is, I’m not worried about my appointments even though they’re important. Rather, I’ve spent the last week agonizing over the
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