Friday, January 27, 2012

Banana Nut Muffin Top

My pants have reached a state of permanent unbutton-ness.  To button them results in acute pain in my belly region followed by the muffin affect and leaking from my eyeballs. 

Not too long ago I had lost a significant amount of weight, about 20 pounds.  I'm short and I know I'll never be skinny, or even Johnny Weir's idea of fat otherwise known as, well, skinny.  I know that when you begin a new relationship it's inevitable that you gain a few pounds.  I get that.  But I've gained back 15 freaking pounds!  And in my idiotic enthusiasm I gave away my fat-pants and now only have I-feel-so-fat pants.

Adding insult to injury my boyfriend said to me that he was feeling like he was getting a pot belly.  Raising his shirt to show me a perfectly flat stomach, he insisted that he's gained weight and wanted to find my scales.  Fine, no problemo.  So I dig out my scales from under my shoes and a fine layer of dust, yet not enough dust to hide the ever growing number I see when I hitch my fat ass on it to start my day the right way by depressing the fuck out of myself.  Before he got on the scales he was already predicting a massive weight gain ballooning his gargantuan size from 145 to possibly even, gasp, 150.  At six foot one I believe that puts him in the Fashionably Fit or Ethiopian Svelte category.  The result?  One-hundred thirty-eight pounds.  He'd lost.  Significantly.  So I called him a skinny bitch and stomped away, shaking the house around me.

Another thing I hate about the weight loss mess is how stupid a freaking problem it is.  I eat too much!  Seriously?!  Jesus Christ, what a damn first-world problem.  I just want my pants to fit.  I'm too broke to buy new jeans (third-world problem) because what I buy costs a fortune (first-world problem) and by fortune I mean a small fraction of what actual rich people pay for their clothes, but it's a sizable chunk out of my non-existent pay check so eff that mess.  Unbuttoned for the win!  And healthy food?  Forget about it!  That shit is so expensive even the store off-brand stuff is too much.  There's a reason poor people are fat:  the Dollar Menu is cheap whereas celery is like gold.  And if there's a Whole Foods store in the state of Arkansas I'll be surprised.  This is the south, baby.  If it ain't fried, it ain't food.  Ask Paula Deen.  I've heard she's been a beacon of health lately.

I guess as far as sliver lining goes my boobs are very bountiful.  None of my bras fit, because I guess that's a theme, but I sorta have cleavage which is cool.  I just look down and I'm like, oh, hello boobies.  I could use you as a shelf from which I eat my meals.  Crumbs get stuck in there but it's okay.  Savin' that for later!

In the end I know it doesn't really matter.  My boyfriend loves my body, though I think he just wants me chubby so I'll be easy to catch if I choose to run away.  Waddle away.  Whatever.  And while it would be nice to walk up a flight of stairs and not have to sit on the last step grasping my chest wheezing in agony, I'd rather do that than 10 minutes of Zumba.  No thanks.

1 comment:

  1. I think you meant to say that Paula Deen is a bacon of health.