you would have too.

Irma, yes she sounds like a super butch woman or a giant German in charge of prisoners, but she’s not. She’s a super fit little woman who runs the bootcamp I go to. Anyway, Irma tries to make sure she knows everyone’s names, which is very nice of her. She does this by walking up to all of us and asking small talk-ish questions. So this morning she asks me, “Michelle! How was your weekend???!?!” (She’s very cheerful but also super intense – hence the punctuation.)

“It was good,” I replied. Totally the truth.

Then she said, “good – what did you do?”

I feel like I waited the longest pause ever. Was I really going to tell the bootcamp woman that I spent the weekend staying out until 3 am, eating chips (which I hate, right Linda?), drinking wine, tequila and Linda’s vodka/soda, eating more chips, a baked potato slathered in cheese sauce and bacon – and broccoli – mixed with Cynthia’s leftover french fries and chicken nuggets, macaroni & cheese from 7-11, an unknown amount of cheese balls – unless they really all did just end up on the floor – a few Pringle’s, cinnamon rolls, a Hershey’s kiss the size of a small child, ice cream, every sample possible at Costco, flaky biscuits, and some stale M&M’s, while watching endless hours of movies and TV on our temporary line of couch?


I mean, first of all, that would be a lot of information, even for me, to give to a semi-stranger. And also, I’m not gonna own up to all that to her. She can think I really do live on chicken and apples and bust my butt being the sweatiest girl in her class. Which, by the way, there was actual steam coming from my head this morning. That may have been the weirdest thing ever.

So I told her I went shopping.

After the aforementioned super pause, she gave me a weird look, probably because it took me so long to “remember” I went shopping, and said something like, “shopping – fun!” and walked away. When she walked a way I burst into Michelle laughter because what compelled me to say I went shopping?

I have no idea. And that is the only time it’s ok to lie.

(By the way – the weekend was fun. Santa Monica dancing Friday night, 90’s party Saturday night and Golden Globe watching Sunday. If repeated, I’m sure there would be a little less consuming, and hopefully for my roommates, less cheese ball throwing – but hey, I was a really irritating little sister for most of the 90’s, that’s my excuse).