Dear Business Trips,

As much as I love having the company pay for my meals, having a hotel maid make my bed and leave me new shampoos and conditioners, renting a car with abandon ("Underage fee? Yeah whatever, charge it! The company'll reimburse me!"), and having the company pay for the bottles of wine that accompany the aforementioned meals... I really think I might have to lay off of you, because quite frankly, you are making me fat. I mean, normally, I don't buy steaks and oysters rockefeller and crème brûlées (crèmes brûlée? Crèmes brûlées? Or as "new crush" would say, creamy brule?)--- which means that normally, I don't eat 7K worth of calories in a single meal, every night for a week. I can't afford you, monetarily, calorically, or otherwise. But armed with the knowledge that my boss will sign the approval form for a $90 meal? I put things in my mouth like I'm a ten cent screw in Vegas.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to break up with you permanently. I like the change of pace from the monotony of the gray cubicle, I like multiple trips to BFE, I even like (well... I can tolerate) ten-hour-long meetings about stiffness and lubrication loss (hee!). But I think that I can't fit into my new, hot bikini with anymore of you during the summer months. So if we don't see each other for a while, don't take it personally. Really, it's not you-- it's me.


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