Is it
because I’m amazing?
Or is it because I associate the word
“kitchen” with “grazing”,
And I tend to spend too much time
lying around lazing
Whilst eating mountains of cake,
So that when I rise from my apathy,
the walls shake,
The floorboards splinter,
And I’m about the size of a bear
who’s ready to hibernate for winter?
No, it’s definitely because I’m
amazing, or at least, because I have
an amazing appetite for food,
Which I generally consume so
efficiently that it’s barely been viewed,
Let alone tasted or chewed,
Meaning that any satisfaction I
gain is fleeting,
As a result of which I spend my whole
life thinking about eating,
Thinking about cooking,
Or secretly scoffing when nobody’s
looking.
Or maybe it’s because I’m no longer
so dim
As to think that one morning I
will wake up and find myself
magically slim,
As if somehow I’ve secretly spent
several hours a day working out
at the gym,
Or dieted without actually knowing,
So I’m no longer the size of a Boeing,
Or possibly even The Titanic.
Or maybe I’m here because I got on
the scales and the thought in my
head was “Panic!”
So, it seems I’m finally learning
that there’s something wrong with
my assumption
That indiscriminate food consumption
Will lead to anything other than
an unfortunate resumption
Of putting on weight.
But mainly, I’m here because it’s
never too late,
(And, hopefully, because Bridget at
Slimming World has an
amazing understanding
About how to stop my waist-line from
being ever-expanding).
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