All you ‘pretty’ boys with your ‘pretty’ girlfriends – as if you’re not annoying enough, you trot around on those spindly excuses for legs, all the while looking as if a sudden gust of wind might just snap you in half

ENOUGH ALREADY! I GET IT!

I watch you from across McDonalds, me with my Filet-O-Fish and Diet Coke, you stuffing a Big Mac AND 10 Chicken Nuggests down your throat, washing it all down with a giant strawberry milkshake. My chunky thighs wobble with guilt at every mouthful passed, whilst you sit there, legs crossed over each other twice, safe in the knowledge that your flab-defying metabolism (garnered, surely, in a trade-off with the devil) will divert every McCalorie away from your legs (and any part of your body for that matter).

I watch you saving the environment with every inch of denim saved in the production of your super-tight, super-skinny, super-UNFAIR jeans. As if it wasn’t bad enough that your legs are like drainpipes, you insist on wearing the tightest fitting clothes known to mankind. “Look at me,” you cry, “I have chopsticks for legs!”

Somewhere, in a dusty attic above some trendy scenesters-paradise, I know there’s a portrait of you with calf muscles the size of melons and jumbo McThighs.

I’m not impressed. Not even mildly. Sort yourselves out, and stop waving your matchstick limbs around in my face.

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I HATE YOU!

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(PS I might be a teensy bit jealous…)