I stare at my naked reflection. A sense of discontentment sweeps past me. I no longer see the quite-toned body I used to have. My dimpled skin appears to be smirking at the unsightly appearance. I pull on my clothes and find difficulty in buttoning my pants. I take a deep breath, fingers working frantically at the button. I thank god I am wearing a black knit (read: stretchable) top today.
The indulgent pleasure of eating plus lax exercise regime has finally found its way to my tum-tum.
My 30-something classmates console me (and themselves), saying this is just natural progression. Everybody gets fat as they grow older, 'coz the fats retain better. They have long given up on their own bodies. Even the skinniest one has something to complain about.
I refuse to accept the new, rotund me and resolve to visit the gym 3 times a week to whisk myself back into shape. You wait and see!
P/S: It does seem kind of bimbotic complaining about being fat etc etc but wait till you realise your clothes don't fit anymore and you have to "upgrade" into another size. And you can forget about the brand new ready-to-wear-as-soon-as-I-lose-weight dress you bought in anticipation of slimmer days (yes, there are actually people who buy clothes which do not fit).
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