Breach of contract.

Dear Midsection,

We have been through a lot together. You were there resting peacefully above my tight rolled acid washed jeans and you were there when I wore my first pair of stirrup pants. You were ever present after puberty, but not everyone saw you… it was ok and I knew that you existed because of my habits.

However, it has come to my attention that you are jutting out a lot more than usual. You are starting to resemble a tire. This is in direct violation of our agreed upon terms. If you remember, I chose to allow you to exist because I could not give up Krispy Kremes or Cherry Coke. At that time you agreed to keep your presence to a minimum, showing yourself only when my shirt was off. I have started to notice you in EVERYTHING I wear and this is absolutely not acceptable.

We cannot coexist in harmony and unfortunately, I will have to take the necessary steps to kill you.

Since we have been through so much together, I am sending this as a fair warning. I have decided that depriving you of the very lifeblood that feeds your freeloading ass is the first step in your annihilation. Next will be exercise. This is will be harder on me than it will be on you… trust me.

So, goodbye old friend. If you have any questions, we can discuss them tonight when I unsausage you from the Spanx.

All my love,

Stuff