I am well aware that the minute I post this blog I will regret it. This post will inevitably set me up for a boulder-storm of mockery, but sometimes one must sacrifice them self for the sake of an amusing blog. You're welcome.
I have to start with some background first. One of the newest developments with me has been a newfound friendship in the form of a Norwegian weightlifter living in my hall by the name of Yngve. In his words, "I didn't really have a choice on being your friend" which was true. I pretty much decided we should be friends and pestered him enough until he caved. Anyways, being a weightlifter, him and his gigantic friends eat massive quantities of meat every night and this is where my story begins.
So for those of you that know me well, you know that I have a particularly...healthy appetite. As Yngve and I have begun trading off making dinner here and there, he has come to discover to quite frankly his utter shock, how much I eat. This is of course the source of numerous jokes about how no one could afford to take me out to dinner and blah blah blah. It made me flashback to the time when Jiro made rice for me and I ate it all only to discover when I complained about being really full that Jiro had cooked 3 cups of rice so that he could have some for lunch the next day. Oh he looooved that.
Anyways, last night I decided to go American and cook a double decker burger and some fries for myself. Yngve joined but didn't think two patties was enough so he made four and claimed, "If I can't finish it, I will just give it to you." Hardy har. Well, I had no problem with my burger (which ended up much larger than I anticipated) and looked over to see him struggling. He started breathing heavily and broke a sweat before he was even done with his burger. Amused, I smirked at him as I nonchalantly popped fries into my mouth and said, "what, can't you finish?" Sensing the threat to his masculinity, he managed the burger and one of the extra patties before he laid back and moaned in agony. Then he told me he feared eating meals with me would put him in danger of becoming "American fat." By that time, I had moved onto my chocolate dessert, and told him mockingly, "one more..." That was when he did something I didn't expect. He sat up and this look of genuine concern washed over his face as he reached for his plate and moved it away from me defensively. With real fear in his eyes he looked at me and said, "You can't have it. I want it for lunch tomorrow." I just about died laughing. The thought that this big weightlifter felt the need to guard his food from me like a mother protecting its young was priceless.
After the laughter subsided, I began to think. Is the day a weightlifter has to worry about me eating him out of house and home, the day I should ask myself: Is something wrong with me? I mean, where does it go? I'm like a black hole in female form. I'm certainly up shit's creek if my metabolism were to ever give out on me. Actually, nah I'm too stubborn to get fat..but still. Well, luckily I'm good for now, but I've decided that the only explanation is that I must be a mutant of some sort. It's probably some sort of evolutionary advantage that if it got fixed in a population would result in skinny vaccuum feeding descendants. Now there's a thought. You're welcome, mankind. For now though, I think I can conclude with two things. 1) My mutant ass officially eats more than a grown male, Norwegian weightlifter and 2) Regardless, I would take being a mutant over "American fat" any day.
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