Why, hello, Belly Fat.
I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts lately. My, you’re soft and jiggly. Where ever did you come from?
Hold on. I do remember you. You hung around for a good long time after I gave birth, especially the second time. Eventually, though, you kind of disappeared. I thought I’d seen just about the last of you. I was pretty determined to keep you at bay, and I was diligent about securing my wall—abdominally speaking—with crunches and lifts at the gym.
I guess oversight just isn’t what it used to be. Because now you’re back, and how. I suppose I haven’t been particularly focused on you lately. While raising kids and meeting deadlines and walking the dog in the rain, I’ve also been embracing chocolate as a clinically proven antidote to the toxic news cycle. You can’t blame me because things have gotten a bit loose around the midriff.
Plus, I’m married. Hubby and I are closing in on 25 years of matrimony. What do you mean, so what? After two-and-a-half decades together, he doesn’t care much about you, Belly Fat. As far as he’s concerned, you can come and go as you please. (In case you’re listening, I prefer you go.) Frankly, he and I both know that in the scheme of things, you’re extremely unimportant.
Still, I can’t help but notice you’ve become awfully, well, intrusive. You’re constantly reminding me that my favorite jeans feel a tad too snug, a hair too tight, especially after sitting down for more than five minutes fat, I mean, flat.
Fine. I’ll wear a tunic.
Belly Fat, it seems like you’ve settled yourself in for a good long time—perhaps you’ve even taken up permanent residence. And I can’t help but notice how conspicuous you’ve been since I celebrated a recent birthday. That’s right—a birthday that started with a five.
Maybe it’s a sign of maturity that I’m starting to accept that whatever I do and wherever I go, from now, on you’ll be along for the ride. We have to pick our battles, right? (Did you just mutter something about Battle of the Bulge? Please.)
One thing’s for certain. I’m going to celebrate my next birthday—and every other occasion in between—in style. I’ll be with the friends and family I love, and I know they won’t mind (or even notice) if I want or need to let it all hang out.
Just one complaint before I go. Belly Fat, your invitation to my parties does not include a plus one. Must you bring your friend, Saggy Butt? Now her, I find insufferable.
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