It looks like those pants are shrinking. Again. Or did the belly balloon you tried to pop grow into something pragmatic lovebirds from Duluth pay to ride in over grape fields in Napa? Now, every time you button those pants, your waist feels like a throat getting sliced with sharp wire by the guy in the back of an Escalade.
You’ve bungled every diet. Collapsed trying cross fit. And blown out your wife’s fleet of Spanx, which are now used as rags to clean the wooden spoon responsible for delivering seductive piles of filthy delight into your breathless mouth.
Worse even, you can’t go back to your tailor on this one. Sure, he’ll break out the tape (cringe) and chalk you up. But, the second you step out, he’s coughing up the same, carefree belly laughs you haven’t had since 7th grade, when your shop teacher slipped on a grease spot and broke his hip.
Staying slim isn’t hard. Eat a salad. Don’t drink soda. And look for stairs to climb with the sustained resolve you use to find cake after midnight, in the same way a blue whale advances on a swarm of krill.
It’s probably too late. Lifestyle adjustments take forever, if they happen at all.