Secret Crush

Secret Crush
written and read by Scott Weaver

She’s tall, around 5′ 11′, maybe even 6 foot.
She has raven-black hair that runs straight, all the way down past her shoulder blades.
She’s pale like a winter moon.
She’s beautiful.

She’s not fat, but not skinny.
She has a soft round face with deep-set eyes.
She looks naive, and shy, and wholesome.
She’s quiet.

I see her punching timestamps on receipts a couple of times a week.
Sometimes she goes to lunch with a short, fat, funny-haired old guy from the office.
She wears dark floral skirts that cover her knees and simple flats on her feet.
When she’s cold, she wears a shiny black-suede jacket, tied in the front.
I don’t think she’s noticed, that I’ve noticed, that she’s beautiful.

She’s my secret crush.

Suck it up! Weaver!

I don’t know about you, my ever-so-lovely readers, but I walk around in a continuos state of fat-inhalation. You know, where the gut that hangs low when no one is looking is sucked in so that all of your internal organs are squished up into your chest cavity?

Sure, it looks cool, all puffy-chested and man-boobily, but what happens when you meet someone and it does lead to the bedroom? Is that false advertising? Is it worth it? I mean, suck it in all you want, but when the moment comes to drop trou and all you got is on display, is it really that important? What does walking around in a state of clench, where, if you take too deep a breath there’s a dangerous chance of farting because your lungs are sharing space with your intestines, really gain you?

Maybe I should just walk around with my gut on display like a giant sign that says, “Yeah! I like food and hate stairs! What of it!”?

I just don’t know. All I know is that I caught myself doing it this morning, alone, while vacuuming in my underwear. That can’t be normal!

What do you think?

Still single and… ooh, I forgot! I have doughnuts!


P.S. Do you think I’m traumatizing my cats by vacuuming in my underwear? Is that animal abuse?