Memoirs of a Fat Girl

I do not want to go to the bridal shower. I would rather have my wrists slit and bleed to death while consuming a Fear Factor entree.

I was going to go into tremendous detail about why I dislike the subject of this party soooo much, in fact, I went on and on. But then, that made me realize something: this is the kind of person who, if she ever discovers herself to be the subject of any kind of writing whatsoever, will take any and all of it totally out of context, and either a) drag my ass to court, where she will cry and whine, or b) drag my ass onto the Dr. Phil show, where she will cry and whine.

In addition to this, criticism is often the highest form of flattery, no? Can't be caught in that trap, no siree bob. Thus, in short, I will not say one bloody thing.

So there.