I Barely Even EAT Twinkies!

Really. I mean, I did eat them on occasion, as a child, when my mom packed them in my school lunches, and I've had a random Twinkie here or there since, but I have definitely eaten less than one hundred Twinkies in my lifetime. Maybe even as few as fifty.

So what happened the other day is beyond my understanding. I parked across the street from my friend Kathi's house when I showed up for our twice-weekly American Idol date, got out of my car, and started walking across the street. Completely innocently. I paused to let a car pass. And then, it happened. A faceless voice came out of the backseat.

"Lay off the Twinkies, Bitch!"

Now I realize that he didn't really think I eat too many Twinkies. He just tried, and failed, to come up with a creative way to call me fat. And I don't mind being called fat, really. I mean, it's true. I am fat. I choose not to think of that as a bad thing. Still don't like it much when someone screams about it out the window of a car, though, especially when they yell at me for eating Twinkies.

Now, if he had told me to lay off the pizza, maybe, or the french fries, or the general tso's chicken, or even the clubhouse sandwiches, it wouldn't have bothered me. I do eat those things, a lot. But why would he have assumed I eat Twinkies? What is it about fat people that makes thin people assume they all eat Twinkies? I just don't get it.

I'm so upset, I think I might go get myself some Twinkies. And if I can find that guy, I know exactly where I'm gonna put 'em.