Thin Lizzie is Not Happy
No, Thin Lizzie is not happy. Furthermore, Thin Lizzie has not been happy for a very, very, very long time. And I suppose one cannot blame poor Lizzie.
You see, quite a while back Thin Lizzie was knot known as Thin Lizzie — she was then known as Large Eliza. Weighing in at 412.8 pounds starkers, she was quite a sight. So Eliza began to think she’d had just about enough Boston Cream Pie and sneers from neighbors. She decided she’d go without all the whispered ‘fattie’ comments behind her back, as well as all the Ben & Jerry’s in her freezer. No more cream cheese roll-ups; no more condescension from the stick-women at work.
So, she began an all-water diet. Until her doctor told her she’d developed the bladder of a 212-year-old. On to the cucumbers-low-fat-peanut-butter-and-raisin diet. She could no longer even watch a Jif commercial without gagging. Atkins. Started hating meat. South Beach. Started hating every blonde cheerleader she’d see on the street. Weight watchers. Started hating her log book. Wrapped her torso daily in saran. Started feeling past her sell-by date.
But, finally, after much power-walking, stomach-stapling, weight-curling, colon-cleansing, treadmill-trotting, mudpack-bathing, medicine-ball-bouncing, spins-cycling, sauna-sweating, gut-purging and many a bitter evening staring at the three peas, tiny rye crisp, shaved cabbage, lone olive, and fleck of tuna before her — voila! Thin Lizzie!
And she hasn’t been happy since the whole ordeal began. Can you blame her?
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