Liz: I’m in love. I’m having a relationship with my pizza. You look like you’re breaking up with your pizza. What’s the matter?
Sofi: I can’t.
Liz: What do you mean you can’t? This is Pizza Margherita in Napoli, it is imperative to eat and enjoy that pizza.
Sofi: I want to, but I’ve gained like ten pounds. I mean, I’ve got this. . .right here in my tummy, you know this. . .what’s it called? What’s the word for it?
Liz: A muffin top. I have one too.
Sofi: I unbuttoned my jeans like five minutes ago just looking at this.
Liz: Lemme ask you a question, in all the years you’ve ever undressed for a gentleman–
Sofi: —it hasn’t been that many.
Liz: Alright. Has he ever asked you to leave? Has he ever walked out, left?
Sofi: No.
Liz: Because he doesn’t care. He’s in a room with a naked girl. He’s won the lottery. I’m so tired of saying no and waking up in the morning and recalling every single thing I ate the day before. Counting every calorie I consumed so I know exactly how much self-loathing to take into the shower. I’m going for it. I have no interest in being obese; I’m just through with the guilt. So this is what I’m going to do, I’m going to finish this pizza and then we’re going to go watch the soccer game and tomorrow we’re going to go on a little date and buy ourselves some bigger jeans.