Rat Poison for the Insecure Soul

Mum: (whispering to my sister) "I thought she'd lost more weight than that."

Me: "Uh, I can HEAR you! And THANKS!"

***

Mum: "I don't like your shirt."

Me: "Oh, I'm sorry...do you like my pants?"
(A beat)
Me: "Sorry Mum. That was just me turning the other cheek."

***

Grandpa of sister's boyfriend (to whom I'd just been introduced): "Wow, you're much bigger than Angie, aren't you?"

(Note: my sister is an absolute waif, the pudding-like proof being that her personal trainer has told her it is impossible
for her to get any skinnier. That and she's tiny, while I am rather tall.)

Angie: (trying to be sublty comforting) "Yeah, we are quite different."

Others in the room: "Mmmm, mmmmm, you don't look much alike, no, mmmmm..."

Angie: "And I am sitting on a chair!"

(Note: I was standing up.)

Me: "Yeah...and I am exhaling."

***

Honestly, it's enough to make you want to:

a) stick your fingers down your throat while singing "The Candyman Can";
b) gate-crash an aerobics class, take over the microphone and spend the entire session visibly bingeing on turkish delight; or
c) dwell on those beautiful words of rainbow fizziness, uttered this very afternoon by grandma's downstairs neighbour (complete with a thick German accent): "My dear look at you...you finally got your figure back!"

Wunderbar.