Fat Asian Baby

FABMommy just came into the room to announce for the fourth time in the last three hours that she is going on a diet tomorrow because she feels disgusting. Only this time, she followed her unnecessary proclamation by asking (for the fifth time this week, mind you) whether or not FAB had a bathing suit and then casually mentioned that the South Beach Diet book was downstairs on the counter and maybe I'd like to take a look at it, hmmm? And wouldn't it be great if we went on the diet together? Last time FABMommy lost seven whole pounds in one week and all it involves is cutting out starches and sugars (which presumably excludes 99% of FAB's present nutritional intake consisting of beer and bagels). I said ok maybe I'd think about it hoping that FABMommy would go away and let me continue playing computer mahjongg in peace, but life should not be so kind. FABMommy then continued that sometimes we feel better about ourselves and everything in life is easier if we diet with a partner, which is incidentally very similar to the speech she gave before conning FAB into Weight Watchers about 15 lbs ago.
FAB continues to reach levels of fat nastiness and general out of shapeness that I'd never before thought possible, but quite frankly, I'd been waiting patiently for the miracle pill that will melt off those pesky pounds with my morning McGriddle™. Since this pill isn't immediately forthcoming, I suppose I will lay in bed tonight and make myself feel appropriately crappy about my body so that tomorrow I can join my mother in some weird post-feminist mother-daughter bonding ritual.