Molten muffin tops
Loca and I ran into one of our regular walkers this morning in the park – it was nippy cold and we were walking briskly – so was he. Even the swans were gliding at a clip in the lagoon. I said as we passed, “It’s getting colder so we have to walk faster.” He grimaced, “No, I gained ten pounds so I have to walk faster AND farther.” I responded, “Don’t you know it.”
I’ve gained ten pounds myself. It was four at first from hooking up and being in love, then six from too many Slovenian beers during the summer, and now a whopping ten pounds that I am carrying around like a battleaxe. The blame goes squarely on Stacy’s Pita Chips, which my neighbor introduced me to and which became a “little” snack in the afternoon. Stacy’s are so good I should have known they were bad. Even my bony macaroni gf gained two kilos.
So now my kind of sexy muffin top has become the molten exploding muffin top and putting on jeans is exercise in and of itself – but I refuse to size up, so faster and farther it is.