I did the middle-aged spread shuffle this morning.
I was damned if I was going to lose the battle between my waistband and my favourite Levis.
It took a few minutes of jumping up and down.
A few more of sucking in.
And, finally, the victory dance of doing up the zip.
I could buy another pair, but that would be admitting defeat.
Just like I won’t go to the loo today, in case I can’t do them up again.
I’m religiously going to the gym.
I can now kick-start a Boeing.
Squat like a broody hen and climb stairs like they’re Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven.
I’ve given up carbs.
I’ve forsaken chocolate.
I can’t remember what a potato chip tastes like.
What I can’t do yet is fit into the bloody Levis.
Maybe I can blame it all on impending menopause.
Maybe the washing machine shrunk every item of clothing I own?
Both are preferable to blaming my expanding girth on myself.
Maybe it’s gas?
To listen to the sheer genius of this song, link to the YouTube video: