Honestly, I’m getting a little tired of the term “pleasantly plump.” I mean, talk about a backhanded compliment. How about they just stop at “pleasant,” as in “Bess Marvin is pleasant.” I’ll take that.
Do I like some ice cream now and then? Sure. But do I think that makes me worthy of fat-shaming? No way. I’m tired of George snarking at me everytime I take seconds. Bitch, please. I swear to God, if we weren’t cousins I’d never hang out with her.
I made the mistake of looking at my Wikipedia page today. Never again. “Bess often is seen involved in the same activities as Nancy, at a lower skill level, including dancing, art, music, acting, and stunt horseback riding.” Excuse me? At a lower skill level? Has it ever occurred to anyone that I’m just letting Nancy win at all these things becuase she’s got crazy-low self-esteem that she channels into being perfect and solving stupid mysteries?
Speaking of which, everyone acts like I’m such a huge baby. You know why I’m scared? Because Nancy’s “mysteries” are dangerous. Instead of putting myself in harm’s way just so that Ms. Titian Hair can get her rocks off, I’d rather be shopping, or flirting, or (yes, George) eating. Frankly, I don’t care to follow perfect Nancy and her perfect boyfriend and her perfect everything into another cave, or go traipsing through the woods, or check out an old clock. I could not give less of a shit about a mystery surrounding some old clock. The only mystery is why you care so much, Nancy.
Anyway, I have to go now. George needs to buy some new flannel shirts and she wants me to drive her to the mall. Whatever.