Size 12 Is Not Fat (Heather Wells, #1)

by Meg Cabot

And it’s not exactly like I’ve been to the gym recently. Not that I don’t exercise, of course. I just don’t do it, you know, in the gym. Because you can burn just as many calories walking as you can running. So why run? I figured out a long time ago that a walk to Murray’s Cheese Shop on Bleecker to see what kind of sandwich they have on special for lunch takes ten minutes.

But how on earth could anyone ever give up cold sesame noodles? Even for a guy who makes a hundred thousand dollars a year?

Preach it

Garbed as always in the height of New York College graduate student chic—overalls and Uggs—she grabs my arm and squeezes.

Well this dates this book like nothing else does

He does a quick step-ball-change, accompanied by a pelvic thrust, on the front stoop of the brownstone. “That’s all mine. I know to you that might not be much, but don’t you think it’s time you took a good look at your own life? I mean, what have you been doing that’s so artistically fulfilling lately?

this cracked me up

It’s a documented fact. I read it in People magazine.

What is she talking about? I do nothing but take risks. I’m trying to keep a psychopath from killing again. Isn’t that enough? I have to have a ring on my finger, too? Some people are never satisfied.

Maybe it isn’t a real date when the guy is just going out with you to make sure no one kills you.

Still counts in my book