Up until recently, my sister and I had been half-assedly trying to lose weight by maintaining meal accountability via instant messaging.  (Although, in reality, it’s been more of a tool of commiseration and equal parts forgiveness).  Most of the time, I tell her I had my micro meal in the freezer, but the guys at work came by my office and made me go with them.  This was one of those days:

b: “Are you back from lunch?”

r: “Yep.”

b: “What did you eat?”

r: “You know, based on the fact that I know you had a micromeal for your lunch, in some circles, you even asking that question could be considered self-mutiliation.  You know, like a ‘cutter’.  But to answer your question, I had two chicken enchiladas, rice, y frijoles.”

b: “Well, then, consider me a cutter.  I wish I could smell you.”

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