On the Plus side

Recently, it has come to my notice (I think every one except that blind dog in my alley has noticed) that I’ve put on some weight. And I’m not even going to pretend that I don’t know how it happened.

I know exactly how it happened: I stopped gymming entirely and ate any and all kinds of food. I may single-handedly contributed to Pringles’ profits last quarter. Also Coke. You’re both very welcome.

Had it not been for my jeans ripping and threatening to reveal more than what the world will ever be prepared for, I wouldn’t even have realized how much I’ve let myself go. After several store trials, I’m unhappy to report that I’ve ballooned from a size 8 to a 12. My family’s mock –threats-paraded-around-as-predictions of me turning into the stereotypical obese American are coming true.

And while reaching critical mass has been quite a joy ride (chocolate, chocolate cake, mint chocolate chip ice-cream, I'm looking at you), my high has helped me hit an all-time low.

So today, I take a pledge you bear witness to – I pledge to return back to my old size 8.

(On the plus side, I must admit shopping has never been easier. Unlike my 8-days, when anything I liked would be sold out as surely as Hangover 2 is a scene-for-scene copy of Hangover 1, it’s always available in a 12. Maybe I should just stay this way?

I can just feel my mother rolling her eyes at me).