OMG. This morning was the first time in a week I have been back to spin class. So not good. I was sweating and panting, and my legs were cramping and my ass hurt, and then I walked into spin class... (Ba dum Ba)
I climbed onto that little seat; started pedaling and away I went. If only I could harness the power of the fat. But wait, maybe I can. Maybe I could use today’s fat as tomorrow’s cash cow.
That’s it! I’ll write a book, go on Doctor Phil, cry about all my struggles with depression and pasta, sell a million copies and Bob’s your uncle, I’m a skinny millionaire.
Skinny millionaire; I like the sound of that. What would I buy first? Um, let’s see. Oh come on, why beat around the bush. BOOBS! I would buy boobs. Glorious orbs with rock hard nipples. (Was that too much information? Yeah, kinda.)
I would also get a Mercedes and an ass lift.
But no vaginoplasty, that’s just going too far. I don’t need it, (she said defiantly). I could make diamonds out of coal in there. (That’s not too much information, I want everybody to know).
Besides, there is such a thing as too much plastic surgery you know! I wouldn’t want my kooch to end up looking like Joan River’s face.