I know you all, my beloved readers, know me as Wade, but you can just call me “fatty fat fat”:http://www.lardlad.com/assets/quotes/season5/cape.shtml. That’s right, I’m portly, I’m rotund, I’m disgusting, I can no longer see my belt buckle, I am unattractive to the other sex and I’m now unable to fit into some of the coture in my closet.
OK, I can still see my package past my belly, I just stood up and checked.
Also, I have no coture, I just went to my closet and checked.
Regardless, the point is: I’m 187 lbs and 5′ 11″. When I graduated from high school, I weighed 155. When I graduated from college, I was up to 165. When I started b-school, I’d expanded to a still-reasonable 175. Heck, chicks seem to like me more when I’m up to 175, something about me filling out maybe. But 185 is right out. And, frankly, I’m much closer to 190 than 185.
It’s not that I haven’t been trying. Sure, I was “cooking with a little too much butter and cream”:http://juniorbird.com/archive/002051.php, but I’ve reformed. Why, last week I had a quarter roast chicken with a simple reduced jus and pureed root vegetables (no cream or butter) for dinner every day, plus a salad with some more roast chicken in it for a snack. And a sensible breakfast. Plus, I “ran around like a maniac”:http://juniorbird.com/archive/002135.php for half the week. If I lost weight, I can hardly imagine how portly I was before.
And, even though I’m on vacation, I’ve been good this week; I’m all about the “cuisine minceur”:http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michel_Gu%C3%A9rard. It’s been fish and chicken, small plates, no snacks, at every meal. Well, tonight I had a steak, ’cause we went out for a family steak dinner, but I had the small 10oz filet, not my usual ribeye. Heck, last year I think I had some 22oz monster for the family steak dinner.
I’m trying to hold out on the bread, I promise, but it’s difficult. Sure, bread tastes good, but most of all it’s a way to fidget while I’m waiting for the meal to come up. I can’t handle sitting still, even if I’m talking, so eating is all that’s left.
So I’m fatty fat fat. And I’m about to spend a week on the beach in Costa Rica. I hope that I’m suffering from some “body dysmorphic disorder”:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Body_dysmorphic_disorder here, ’cause I know I’m not looking forward to seeing me in a bathing suit.