I Skipped the Marshmallow Dream Bar

Most days I really like my job, and they say you shouldn't put anything on the internet that you wouldn't want to see plastered on a billboard the next day, so thank goodness my blog is blocked from Google search.

Today I skipped the Marshmallow Dream Bar on my trip to Starbucks. This is a big step for me, as I am more addicted to the Dream Bar than I am to the ventifatfreeskinnyvanillalatte that turns my tongue yellow because of it's radioactive sugar substitute. Why did I skip the Dream Bar, you ask? Because my boss said I am fat.

Yes, fat. Packing on the extra pounds. Thick around the middle. Climbing the charts in jeans sizes. Obsese, my friends. I would love to argue with her, but I can see the scale quake as I walk towards it, and sometimes the toilet shakes when I sit down. I'm a bonafide chunky monkey, weighing in at (dare I say it publicly?) 203 pounds. Gasp.

I like my sweets and it's written in my genetic code. My grandma used to lock herself in her bedroom and eat truffles while she read romance novels. I like Dream Bars, truffles, cookies, candies, cakes... I actually eat about half sweets and half real food in a regular day. It's a huge stress reliever, and it tastes good!

Back to the boss, though. We're in my review talking about my expanding role with the firm and the raise I am about to get, and everything is going swimmingly until we get to the areas for improvement part. Boss says she would like me to work on being healthier. What?!?!?!??! "You give good phone," she says. You give good phone. You give good phone. I'm still going to be hearing that in my head when I'm 80. Then she went on to say that if I was "healthier" and "fit" I would exude confidence and happiness and then they would have me meet with clients... but at this point I "cannot be presented."

I guess I could cry, or look for a new job, or eat some damned truffles while I rot behind my desk. It's the sick unspoken law that my mother always told me: certain jobs require certain looks, employers do discriminate, and you have to play the game. I'm drawn to "sexy" industries and client facing roles, so I have to look the part. I learned it at 21 years old when the brokerage firm where I worked was interviewing for a new broker. "Too old," "too fat," "too ugly," I heard as one after another paraded through the door. Maybe I should thank my current boss for giving me the reminder, however rude, obnoxious and inappropriate it was to say. I'm also not too proud to say that I would like to be a little healthier so I can run around after Matilda without getting winded and not feel so uncomfortable in my expanding skin.

So, my "things to work on" for the next 90 days (at which point I actually get another review) are:

1. Being as "healthy" as possible
2. Buying the most expensive suit I can afford (after completion of goal #1)
3. Writing (even though most of her emails are incomprehensible *I* have to work on *MY* writing... but THAT is another blog).