Martha, revisited

I've poked fun at Martha Stewart in the past, but never have I felt empathy toward her. And goddamn it, I hate feeling empathy for her.

But ever since I've started wearing this enormous pedometer around my ankle, I've felt for Martha. It's huge and unsightly, and everyone knows you've got it on. Granted, I could take mine off for a couple of hours, but that would be cheating. Had Martha tried that, she'd have been arrested. Just thinking about that makes me want to do a retroactive "nyah nyah!" in the general direction of Connecticut.

Plus, I feel the need to identify the pedometer to everyone that sees it - like, hey! I'm not a felon on house-arrest! I'm just a fat chick wearing a pedometer! Really! Wanna see me take it off? Huh? Do ya? Do ya?! I should print up some t-shirts with that on them, but I don't think CafePress carries my size range. Bitches. Would it kill 'em to tailor up some pup tents?

I suppose I could wear pants, but it's summer here, and wearing pants just screams "she's hiding something under there!!!" Sure I'm hiding stuff under my pants - cellulite, flab, and cottage cheese dimples. Whoa. Sexy.

Martha would never have stood for that. She'd have exercised her bony ass to the nub to avoid what I'm hiding. She'd have dieted until her stomach thought her throat had been cut. Then, if that failed, I'm sure ol' Marth would have designed a gorgeous range of flowing caftans in light fabrics and summery prints. I guess that's why I hate to feel for the woman - really, I envy her self-discipline, drive, and determination.

That and the ability to design and market caftans. Goddamn you, Martha Stewart.