On double standards and jeans

Hemingway came back from Hungary last night with this worried look on his face, exclaiming "You're so thin! You've gotten so thin!" which I find a little frustrating. Why's everyone up in my business about food all of a sudden? I seriously doubt I've changed significantly in body shape in the three days he's been gone. It just doesn't work that way. Pony stepped in, ensuring that I actually do eat. "I've seen her!" and I feel like I'm being monitored for everything I put in my mouth. I hate feeling like I'm under scrutiny for my food habits.



I mean, it's kinda cute when he hugs me and happily says he's going to force-feed me cookies and chocolate (because trust me, I love me some cookies and chocolate), but I don't want to have to defend the way I look or the food I eat or whatever. I'm happy like this. I think I look nice. It'd be nice if others didn't keep trying to push me towards either losing or gaining weight. It's my body, after all. If I'm happy with it, it shouldn't be anyone else's business.

I think it's funny how it's perfectly fine to tell someone "You're too skinny! You should eat more" and legitimately get away with the excuse of being worried about someone's health, while if I were to go "You're too fat! You should put the cake down, fatty" people would publicly lynch me.

Hemingway took me clothes shopping today for the interview tomorrow, and I ended up scoring a really nice pair of black jeans. I was thinking of going for some other colour, like stone washed grey or something, but I figured that black is kinda the typical server's colour, so I didn't want to buy something that wouldn't be useful, especially since I wasn't the one paying. It feels strange having someone else (who's not mom or dad) pay for me when it comes to... well, anything and everything. Anywho, I needed this, and I'm sure they'll help me kick ass for the interview tomorrow, for which I am nervous enough to vomit. I hate interviews. They're scary.