The Boyfriend Effect — 17.2 Pounds
Can't I meet someone without getting chubbier?
One thing loudly Ho, Ho, Hoing this holiday season — aside from Russia, which is having a daily Christmas affair with our politics — is my weight. My clothes are on a permanent vacation from lack of use because they don’t fit. And I’m not talking about the “oh, I’m feeling bloated” saga. Even my fat pants are too tight.
“I now feel like a very pale oompa loompa.”
Perhaps I should be thankful the reality hit early in the season, so I can get a handle before being bombarded with the annoying weight-loss messages everywhere. I’m not. Each cycle I vow to myself, “I’m not going to let this happen again.” And yet it does. It’s happened during my lowest lows and even the highest of happy. And then I again have to ask myself “Why?”
My question goes unanswered.
