My Last Everlovin' Aunt Fucking Jemima Nerve

So you all know that I am doing the weight loss thing.  Attempting the weight loss thing.  There is a good program at the gym, and they even have a website where you can log everything you eat to track your calories, your carbs, your fat intake.  Great, huh?

No.

My fine and friendly trainer, the one who said "tough shit" when I said it was difficult to change my behavior to eat more, can see what I eat.  So, you say, SO?  Well, let me tell you.  She reads what I eat.  And then has the shocking audacity to send me an email to "comment" on it.

Comment, indeed.  More like a complete total damnation of my well being.  I was shocked!  Shocked, I say!  She busted me.  Like I know McDonald's is not great for me, it is at least something to eat, since I am not apt to find leafy green vegetables and ripe fruit when I have 20 minutes to get something to eat in order to get back to work for a conference call!  Walk a mile in my shoes, toots!

But I admit, it was a pretty good double cheeseburger, and I did it sans french fries! 

She used CAPITAL LETTERS and underlines!  Honest to God, she is a petite little thing, but she packs a serious "stick the puppy's nose in the pee" punch.

Oh, and it only gets better.  When I saw her in the gym, she went out of her way - out of her way - to make a point to me, God, Country, as well as Meg and Danica, that I had failed.  Well, her interpretation of failing.  Certainly not mine.  I was under calories that day.  My response to her yelling (literally yelling) that I ate at McDonald's was a simple, dignified "Bite me".  So there!

But in all seriousness, I know what she is doing is for my own good, and I appreciate and love that she cares enough to make me look like an ass in front of my gym friends. 

But she better be careful!