Tuesday

"I'VE OUTGROWN HIM."

Or do you mean outweigh him -- by some 15 pounds now and growing -- and, not surprisingly, he's dumping you. You've gotten so fucking fat he has to roll you in flour to look for the wet spot. Fun at first, but it doesn't take long before the sheer avalanche of cellulite puts a man off. So now -- and who can blame him -- he's found somebody new. And you've had to gather your pathetic collection of "stuff" and move back in with your parents, where, wisely, they've got the sleeping pills, lighter fluid, rat poison, and chain saw under lock and key.

It could go either way. Either you'll hide your misery over being dumped by caving in totally to your oral fixation and pack on another fifty. Or you'll lose your appetite altogether and fall victim to our dear friend Anna Rexia. Makes no difference in that the end result is pretty much the same: You'll look like shit and never land a guy again. Hey, did you know they've got a terrifically powerful little personal massager over at Brookstone for under twenty bucks -- no lie!

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