There's a bag of Cinnabon toast rotting at the bottom of the hill that is our backyard. I hurtled it there after A. told me that's how Kirstie Alley got fat. It wasn't so much this simply fact, which he gleaned while sitting in the bathroom, reading one of N's tabloids. It is because he was comparing me to her. Basically calling me "Kirstie Alley trainwreck fat." I suppressed a few tears. Then I hurtled the toast as hard as I could. Thing is, I had never even heard of Cinnabon toast until I had some that very morning at B's house with a hardboiled egg and a cup of coffee. Such a fat fest of a breakfast, I know.
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