The Real Reason Why You’re Fat

Whenever something isn’t going right in my life, I like to blame someone else. Late to work? If people learned how to drive, I would have been on time. Missed class? If my friends wouldn’t have made me go out, I wouldn’t have been hungover. Single, alone, with no boyfriend in sight? Despite my excessive amount of selfies and love for the Kardashians, I’m a total catch — ugh guys are dumb.

But of all of the excuses out there, there’s one I’ve been waiting for: a really good reason as to why I’m not “skinny.” For a while I used genetics, and then big bones. It doesn’t matter that dessert just calls to me, and I would never pass up pizza (ever). Sure, I don’t go to the gym, and no, I don’t know the last time I put on yoga pants to actually do yoga. But still, it’s not my fault, right?

RIGHT.

Finally, science decided to be at our side and hand us a wonderful excuse as to why we’re fat. It’s because our parents hated us. Seriously. According to study by Michigan State University, how stressed out we were as kids determines how we gain weight as adults.

Basically, if you experienced shitty things like not knowing your dad, watching your parents get divorced, or had a really bad hair cut (thanks, Mom), you were more likely to develop bad coping mechanisms that have been engrained into your lifestyle. Adult stress doesn’t have as big of an impact on us because we haven’t been dealing with it for as long. Naturally, because life isn’t fair, this occurrence only happens with women, but what doesn’t happen with women, amiright? The study goes on to say that public health workers should work with girls a little differently when dealing with stress as children so we fix this problem and can all life fitly-ever-after.

But helping kids won’t exactly help us feel good in a badycon. So it seems that we have two choices: Get our shit together and break our bad childhood habits, or blame our parents for this like we do with literally everything else. One involves actually going to the gym and the other involves guilting our parents into nice dinners whenever they’re in town.

Yeah, I think I’ll go with option number two. Pass the cookies.