Hams and Wings

It’s funny but until now I’ve never had enough fat to be able to grab handfuls of it and know what it really feels like.

I have, however, been cultivating a fairly impressive spare tyre over the last year or so and now have enough of it that it sits atop the waistband of my jeans, quivering like a jelly when I cycle down cobbled streets.  It makes me look as though I have been poured into my jeans like a thick milkshake might be poured into the glass , but there is just a little bit too much of me so it accumulates at the top, spreads out as far as its skin bag will allow and then just sits there hanging over the edges and wobbling every time I sneeze or cough.

The strange thing about it is that, well, it’s so soft. It’s really quite nice to take a little handful and sit there squelching it between your fingers, like one of those stress toys training companies always give away for free.

It’s nothing like the fat that babies have.  Thirteen, my first, was a little Michelin girl when she was a toddler, with sausages for legs and elastic bands around her wrists but, although her fat was lovely to nuzzle, it was still quite firm and beautifully smooth.  Mine, by contrast, is uneven, slack, wibbly and quite malleable.  Although it’s nice to squeeze, as I said, it’s also quite shocking.  The novelty is also wearing off – especially as I’m now growing some on the undersides of my arms.  I dread going into a self-perpetuating wobble and falling over when I wave goodbye to people.  It can stop now – I really don’t want any more of it.  I would quite happily give it back but I don’t think it comes off as easily as it goes on.  Perhaps it could be sucked out of my midriff and injected into my boobs or lips…

As I typed the word ‘boobs’ back there, Husband appeared (radar must be switched on) with a cup of tea, accompanied by the heavily-laden biscuit tin.  It’s not as though I need any encouragement!  A little will power really wouldn’t go amiss…