I Have Proof I’m A Fatass, Yay


8:11 p.m. Sunday, Aug. 26, 2018

I am eating puppy chow. My roommate is on the couch with me. Brad is in my kitchen making me waffles. I drop a puppy chow bite. My roommate won’t let her dog eat it, so I must go throw it away.

I stand up.

I walk to the kitchen to throw away said puppy show.

The TV is playing. My roommate is watching a show called “The Innocents.” The volume is loud. The subtitles are still on.

As I’m opening the trash can, I hear a loud beating.

I figure it’s coming from upstairs. My upstairs neighbors are loud.

My roommate pauses the TV.

Brad exasperated says, “You make me wanna smoke.”

I am confused.

They tell me the downstairs neighbors just beat on their ceiling because we were being too loud.

I was the only one walking.

I am a fatass.

*This is not the first time someone has told me I stomp. My college roommate told me I stomped. Brad has told me several times I stomp. Brad told me when we first started dating, he thought I was mad all the time. But I was just walking.

This is day 23 of 100 days of blogging. Read day 22 here.

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