Okay, so while we don't normally encourage eating of any kind, yesterday was Marathon Monday, and what would this holiday be without a little late afternoon visit to T-Anthony's pre-nap/coma. After all, the calories you probably consumed in your large pie or chicken finger dinner were probably negated by the amount of sweating you did running up and down Beacon Street, peeing behind dumpsters and aggressively accosting the poor workers of 7-Eleven.
On my visit to T's, I was mauled by what appears to be a rare species of fat girl that didn't seem to understand the term personal space.
Though I was stepping into a pizzeria, turns out it was the fucking amazon.
This gorilla/zebra mixed breed was SO drunk that she was mouth breathing down my neck in line a la that creepy boy in Hey Arnold.
A few times in line she even stumbled (mind you while standing still) and bumped into me throwing her 170+ pound body into my fragile frame, naturally causing me to turn around and flip out on her. Did she get it? Nope. Seven more times she does this (because everyone knows how fast the line moves at Ts).
Now, not only is she a disgusting, mouth-breathing slob... she also clean sweeps the disaster awards with her Coach Wristlet and legging/dress combo.
What the fuck!
Excuse me, I need to go puke up my large cheese now so I don't turn into that. Thanks for the reminder. I almost kept this meal down.
BUFP
