Letter to me. From my stomach.

Dear you:
You got cocky last night, at book club, didn't you.  I didn't ache once during the day, so you went ahead and had some cheese and crackers.  You know that cheese is probably something to stay away from on a good day, but you went ahead and tested me.  And - I was kind.  So you had more.  And I remained kind.   You were pacing yourself, and I was happy that you skipped the wine (for once!).  We were doing okay.

Did you really need to plop a bunch of brie on your salad?  Did you really need to dominate the tomato mozz. - emphasize on the mozz?  Was it completely necessary?  Couldn't you have just remained - kind and thoughful of me?

So yes - when you opted for the blueberry cobbler - WITH whipped cream (seriously??) - I rebelled.  Enough.  Stop eating like you are a horse.  You're going to have way more embarassing bathroom situations than you did last night if you don't.  You are not a horse, nor a pig.  You are a person.  A person with a weakening belly.  So stop.  Or else you'll be shitting yourself on the side of the road somewhere.

Sincerely, your belly.