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
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
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
About how to stop my waist-line from being ever-expanding).