No less than 24 hours after my recent blog posting (in which I praised his now-suspect wonderfulness) does Matt proceed to work into a conversation that he’s recently noticed that I’m fat.
In his defense, he didn’t just start singing “fatty, fatty, two-by-four….”. Nor did he look at me exiting the shower and go “EEWWWWWWWW!”
No, Matt said something like “I think we both are getting bigger bellies again.”
I suspect his approach was to drag me down with him. If he’s noticing his stomach is getting bigger, perhaps misery loves company so he felt the need to include me in our nose-dive into obesity.
I guess what upsets me most is that he’s right. Just over a year ago I weighed 196 pounds. Between last winter and last fall, I went down to 169 pounds (not so much a result of exercise, but probably the stress involved with his depression and medical problems, as well as eating more fruit and less junk food). However, as his mental and physical health has improved, I’ve begun eating again. At first, I started eating cookies. After not noticing any weight gain after a few weeks, I naively assumed that my metabolism has changed and I had become one of those people who could eat whatever he wanted and not gain weight.
So, I welcomed the cookie dough and Matt’s return to liking pizza again (he goes through phases). I welcomed the candy and the pasta. I welcomed edible happiness into my life again.
Slowly, between September and April, I’ve developed a belly again. The strange thing is that I only regained about 5 pounds and my pants still fit just as comfortably. Yet, my belly is apparently offensive enough for Matt to notice.
And Provincetown beach season is fast approaching. In fact, our first trip there is in less than two months. I think some home-made lyposuction is in order. It’s just 5 pounds – nothing a quick razor blade slice and a vacuum cleaner can’t fix.
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