Thank You Sir, for Making Me Feel Like a Fatass

So let me preface this by saying yes, I have been frequenting Specialty's (if you don't know what that is, it is the most fantastic, amazing food establishment on the face of the Earth, and if you come to Seattle I will personally take you there and shove their cookies down your throat) in the mornings due to the fact that I have become really terrible at eating breakfast prior to leaving for work. This is mostly due to the fact that the weather here has become so terrible that upon looking outside, and seeing sheer blackness and sleeting rain, I simply lie in bed in misery before my boyfriend has to pull me out. Anyway, this place probably has the best fruit and yogurt parfaits I've ever tasted, plus they have pretty bomb chocolate and almond morning buns too. Naturally, I go in this morning following the regular Starbucks stop and upon paying the cashier (who I have seriously seen like TWICE . . . no joke) says, "What's your name again? You're in here like every day." Ummmmm . . . first of all, I never told you my name nor do I have any desire to now and secondly, thank you, pooface, for so publicly pointing out my addiction to your pasteries and that I might possibly be a fatass. So I respond with, "Elise . . . and that's embarrasing." Cashier boy then says, "Well, not like every day." Thank you, sir, for admitting that some days, in fact, I do not come into your establishment at all. Is it my fault that your store is conveniently located next to my work and makes amazing food? I think not. Plus, sometimes I cheat on your store with the establishment across the street that so lovingly provides me with bacon-scallion cream cheese on my bagel! Sue me!