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.