Are You Paying For This?

It seems you aren't interested in the thrills and chills of my daily dining. Okay. Fine, you bunch of elitist blogifites. I've removed my menu entries and won't ever again impose them upon you. But just be aware. Someday you're going to be gathered around a table with friends celebrating a special occasion, let's say your birthday or perhaps National Bunion Day, and as you lift a forkful of calves' liver with melted onions in marsala sauce to your rosebud lips you're going to ponder to yourself or exclaim to the entire company of guests gathered round about you, "I wonder what that sharply-witty and deeply-insightful Phatgirl is eating right now." And. you. will. not. know. Why? I'll tell you. Because when given the chance to enjoy, to relish, to, shall I say, savor, the magnificent distillation of my thrice daily fantastical consumptions, you considered it as verbal fodder to be cast aside. Therefore, no more, no matter how much you plead with me for another chance. Begging will get you nothing but sore knees.

I'm leaving now for the gym and while I'm gone I'd encourage you to use the time to take a long, hard look at yourself so that this kind of situation will not be repeated in the future.