From Untitled Until I Think of Something Clever:
"I’ve gained a couple pounds over the last two weeks. And though the scale promises it’s only two pounds my pants are threatening to abandon my ass. My belt, the one that is always so happy in hole Numero Quattro, said, “Fuck that” this morning and refused.
Basically my clothes are in full mutiny. They see my ass coming and think, “I can’t keep doing this! Everytime she eats another potato chip or a cookie, I get another ulcer. I have a family that needs me, but I’m just so exhausted holding in her tummy and, and… those thighs! Dear God, please, please make it stop”
I hear my bras crying sometimes. My jeans make noises like a russian weightlifter doing squats whenever I sit down. I swear my tank tops have a support group meeting in the closet when I’m not looking (Styrofoam coffee cups and cigarette butts everywhere)."