“This is the year, Ashley. This is the year that I get a six-pack and actually start eating healthy.”
“I totally support you, Morgan,” said Ashley from her position on Morgan’s bedroom floor, where she was sprawled sipping on a Frappuccino and reading the Cosmo horoscopes.
“I mean it,” said Morgan, striding around her room in her brand new size four Lululemon yoga pants that were cutting off the circulation from her legs to her brain. The tight waistband of the new Lulu’s had been the initial catalyst of the motivation to diet. Morgan had grudgingly moved up to a size four from a two just last year, and she’d kill herself before admitting her ass needed a six after the holidays. “I’m serious this time. I can’t live like this. Did you know that margaritas are, like, 500 calories? I had probably six last weekend and now I want to kill myself.”
Ashley had figured that everyone knew how bad margs were calorie-wise, but she widened her eyes in what she hoped was a “no way!” expression for Morgan’s benefit.
“I don’t know where to start,” Morgan complained. “I know we’re supposed to go get lunch right now, but like, I’m afraid I’m going to get cellulite.”
She actually had already discovered several stretch marks on her boobs just this morning, but wasn’t ready to admit that to Ashley. Ashley was naturally rail-thin due to the genetic gift of her equally rail-thin mother, and it seemed to Morgan that she was sipping that thousand-calorie Frap just a little smugly.
“Let’s just go to Whole Foods and get you something,” said Ashley, rolling her eyes. “We can even pick up some healthy groceries while we’re there. It’ll be no big thing.”
Morgan wiggled out of the too-tight yoga pants, sensation returning to her thighs as blood flow was restored. Instead, she tugged on a looser pair of Norts to wear to Whole Foods. They camouflaged the love handles more generously than unforgiving Lulu’s.
At Whole Foods, Ashley headed confidently toward the salad bar while Morgan, moving toward hangry the longer she went without lunch, walked innocently toward the build-your-own burrito section.
“Uh, Morg?” said Ashley, hands on her bony hips. “Where are you going?”
“I want a burrito.”
“You can’t have a burrito, sweetie,” said Ashley, her patience ebbing as her blood sugar began to crash after the spike from the caramel Frap.
“Not even a chicken one? Guacamole doesn’t have that many calories, does it? What about cheese? I’ll get it without cheese if I can have sour cream.”
“I really think a salad would be better,” said Ashley, dragging her now-dejected, slightly chubby friend toward the salad bar. Morgan looked dubiously at the piles of leafy greens and craned her neck longingly toward the smell of carne asada wafting from the burrito area. Ashley grabbed two boxes and started shoving kale and arugula into each before handing Morgan’s box to her. Sighing, Morgan toyed with the handle of the corn, but perked up when she saw the feta cheese.
“You don’t want that,” said Ashley, slapping the feta cheese spoon out of Morgan’s hand. “Here, try cottage cheese instead.”
Morgan looked into the cottage cheese container and back to Ashley with disgust.
“It looks like brains,” she complained. “It looks like what would come out of someone’s open wound if they were bitten by a rabid dog and left in the woods for six days.”
“It’s so good for you though, Morg. I promise you, it tastes good. And it’s like, so healthy, and so low in calories. Do you want cellulite?”
“This looks like cellulite!”
“Come on. Just try it.”
Ashley dumped a pile of the cottage cheese onto Morgan’s salad. Morgan’s nose wrinkled, but she resigned herself to this disgusting pile of slop, focusing on the memory of the stretch marks on her boobs. Besides, she comforted herself, I can just come back here tonight and get a burrito, with guacamole and sour cream, while Ashley is in class..
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