My good friend, Your Facebook Status Sounds Like a Suicide Note, told me she was going on a diet/exercise program, so I skipped the part where she asked for my advice and immediately created an Excel spreadsheet with fat-burning workouts for her. I mean, I’m a pretty awesome friend. And so is she.
YFSSLaSN is basically me if I was a girl. Although if I was that pretty and had those boobs I’d be sluttier. Oh, and if I had a gay best friend that told me my hair looks awesome when I flatiron it, I’d listen and do it all the time. Oh, and if I sent him a picture of my outfit for a potential date and his response was “your hair looks great,” I wouldn’t take the compliment, I’d read between the lines and change my shirt. So… no, we’re nothing alike, but that’s okay.
She had no choice but to go along because she’s a people pleaser and she knows that deep down if I help her lose weight then it’ll make me feel good about myself. Having the best hair in the group is starting to lose its luster and I need to be the best at something else.
Things got off to a bit of a bumpy start when I told her she was no longer allowed to eat cheese. You would have thought I had asked her to sow her vagina shut. I understood her skepticism at being able to abstain from dairy (shit- I sometimes have to imagine a leaky cow udder to keep me from face planting in a bowl of queso) but I had already removed all sharp objects from her apartment after her last status update, so cutting into a block of Jack Cheddar was gonna be a challenge anyway.
Our first trip to the gym was a success considering that the last and only time we ever worked out was four years ago when I caused her to have an asthma attack. I used my foolproof method of making sure she found a gym crush to distract from the pain of squats and burpees. She’s into big guys with beards and as luck would have it all the methed- out male models were on vacation that day and the gym was full of lumberjack like former football players who were roiding out. We hit the jackpot in terms of possibilities.
She fell off the exercise ball while doing abs. Yes, I could have told her about the time I was en route to say hello to Gym Crush when my headphones snagged on a piece of equipment, nearly decapitating me in the process. I’m sure it would have made her feel better. But instead I said, “get up and try again.”
And she did.
Go ahead, slow clap.
I know what you’re thinking. The moral of the story is if at first you don’t succeed, try again. Eh, but it’s not.
I was afraid that without me there to encourage her she might give up completely. I really didn’t want her to fail and I really didn’t want to blamed for her failure. So, being the good friend that I am, I grabbed a hundred dollar bill and went into work waving it in the air, looking for a guy to date her.
The real moral of the story is: if at first you don’t succeed, make sure you have a friend who is willing to pay someone to date and subsequently dump you, creating a broken-hearted tailspin so devastating that it becomes nearly impossible to eat, leading to an immediate loss of 5-10lbs.
A friend like me.