Who's belly is that?
I first noticed it Sunday when I was watching a movie Sunday night.
I looked down at myself and thought, "That's a big belly. Whose belly is that?"
I sat there for a minute, perplexed. I was trying to figure out where this robust belly had come from.
Just a few weeks ago, my belly was on its way out, being taken down, inch by inch, every week by faithful attendance at cycling class.
Every time I sweated for an hour on the bike, I knew I was losing inches. My jeans had started to fit better. Life was good.
And then I stopped going.
What's wrong with me?
Wait, don't answer that.
Anywho, I looked down at myself Sunday and noticed this belly. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Where the heck did you come from, belly?
Belly: I'm baaaaaaack! I thought I was a goner.
Me: I'd hoped you were.
Belly: Naw, playa. As long as you don't go to the gym, I'm here to stay!
Me: I see.
Belly: I don't like to be lonely, so I bought back the thunder thighs and the back fat. They missed you, too.
(This is where I start crying.)
Belly: Aw, baby. . . don't cry. . . we're part of you. We just couldn't stay away.
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!
The moral of this story is: I need to get back into the gym.
Not now, but right now.
