In an attempt to not have a food hangover the day after Thanksgiving, I decided to wear tight jeans instead of the typically elastic waistband pants. It worked pretty well at Thanksgiving lunch. Thanksgiving dinner resulted in intense bloating combined with a cold revisiting. Before I realized it, I was puking up water in my in-law's bathroom and quickly calculating how long it would take to get home where I could wretch in peace.
Happily, my best friend starting texting me and that soothed my coughing fit. That and the cough drop that I dug out of the sink, rinsed, and put back in my mouth finally started to cool my throat. As one of the unlucky few working the day after Thanksgiving, (but given awesome perks to do so, so I'm only mildly complaining) I toughed it up and made it through the day to jump back to overeating at my in-law's again.
It's a bad sign when your fat pants don't have the same give the used to. Next birthday I turn thirty-three. I've mad the joke that I have to make it through so I can outlive Jesus. But, the weaker and unhealthier I feel everyday should be motivation enough to knock of the bad habits and stop slowly killing myself. I need a kick in the ill-fitting pants. Sadly, I'll be mid thirty-three and fallen a second time, before I do anything about this pseudo-proclamation.
