If you're skinny but you think you're fat I just bought you a ticket to Get the Hell Out of My Life

Now that it’s officially over with the nanny, I’ve decided to break up with some more people. Seems like a good time, seeing how it’s a new year and winter (I don’t know about you but the background of dead, lifeless trees always seems to bring the duds in my life to the forefront). And I like the idea of doing some human house cleaning; it makes me feel productive.

The first person I want to dump is my coworker Danielle. Sometimes we get lunch, sometimes we sit together at work functions. I’m dumping Danielle because I’m tired of having this conversation over the morning coffee pot:

Her: “You look so skinny!”
Me: “No way, you look so skinny.”
Her: “Shut up. I look like a house.”
Me: “You look great.”
Her: “I’m gross.”

Danielle easily weighs 30 pounds less than me—easily—so if she thinks she’s fat and gross how the hell can I look skinny? It’s mathematically impossible. Not only is this “conversation” pointless, it belongs in Legally Blonde and last time I checked, I was not Reese Witherspoon.

Danielle, you’re a talking floor lamp, and your duotone crimped hair is an unfortunate lampshade. Plus, you walk like you just got off a horse, which I guess is what happens when you don’t have any fat to support your gluteus maximus.

Bye, sweetie.

The second person I am dumping is a former co-worker friend, Wendy. (If there are any Wendys reading this, I’m sorry, but I have yet to meet a Wendy that wasn't a little nuts. Maybe there’s a Wendy out there who’s my BFF and I’ve yet to meet her but until then, I’ve got to go with what I know.)

Along with being a truth-bender, Wendy is a former corporate big shot turned stay-at-home mom. There are rumors she was let go, but she’d never disclose that. I’m ditching her because I’m tired of having this IM conversation:

Her: I’m having so much FUN playing Twister with the kids!!! I LOVE not working!!!!!!!!!!
Me: Great.
Her: Next we are going to bake brownies!!!!!!!!! I’m STILL in my bathrobe!!!!!!!!
Me: Super.
Her: Did you have a good holiday vacation (I don’t know what that word means anymore because I’m on vacation ALL THE TIME!!!!!!!!!!)
Me: Yep.
Her: Well, have fun at work.

Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. Me thinks you doth tell me too many fucking times that you’re thrilled to be home. Last time I checked, staying home with two kids was not a vacation, unless you’re just plain dumb. And playing Twister in your bathrobe with your kids sounds a wee bit tricky (do you really want your three-year-old son straining for the blue dot that’s under your liberated crotch?).

If you were a real friend, you wouldn’t feel the need to exclamate your affected jubilation all over my computer screen. Sometimes Windex doesn’t get it all off. You’re obviously insecure and petty, and life’s too short to let people such as yourself populate my heart.

While we’re at it, did you really think I would let my child drink from those mangy, slobbery sippy cups you dropped off? Who recycles chewed-on sippy cups? If you wanted me to keep dental records of your children in my home why didn’t you just bring them over so they could gnaw on my woodwork? At least then I’d have a personalized memento of our friendship.

You’re gross, and we’re through.

Aaaahhh. Much better.