Ellen Million (ellenmillion) wrote,
Ellen Million

My best friend (LJ Idol)

I suppose I should write about my darling Jake, or possibly one of the pets - even poor fox-eaten Max, whose death made me cry for weeks. Maybe Jennie should go here, what with that whole 'sure, I'll move to Alaska' stamp of loyalty.

But I have a new best friend.

And it's in my pants.

Wait, wait, come back! This isn't one of those posts, don't worry. See, in the last year or so, I've gained about 10 lbs, and that makes me happier than a four year old with a pile of dirt.

I have always been underweight. I was told, in college, that I needed to gain 30 lbs and was put on a sure-fire weight gain diet that centered around ice cream, required seven meals a day, and made heavy girls glare at me with hate in their eyes while I stuffed my face and didn't gain an ounce. I had - and still have - no appreciation for my metabolism. I was not 'slender,' I was not 'svelte,' I was not even 'thin' - I was skinny. When I was in fourth grade, they sent me home with a note making sure my family had enough money to feed me. Every annual exam I've ever gotten comes with that 'Do you throw up after meals?' and 'Do you feel like you have to be thin to be popular' fishing to check and make sure I'm not bolemic. My butt goes completely numb after just 20 minutes on a hard bench or one of those awful metal folding chairs. I rattle around in those rides at the fair like a marble in a tennis shoe, and I'm deathly afraid I'm going to slip right out around those lap belt thingies that are supposed to hold you in while you're whipping around in space. I'm not short, either - I'm about 5'8, and finding clothing that hits my ankles and wrists but doesn't leave me swimming in excess material is a minor miracle.

Or at least - that used to be the case.

I was warned with zest by my older and plumper friends that my metabolism would change when I hit my late twenties. As with grown-up teeth and boobs, I was a late-bloomer, but indeed, with the age of 31, I finally got some weight.

It's amazing.

I can sit in a chair without feeling my butt-bones grinding against my skin! I can wear clothing off the shelf! I can go three hours without eating and not faint or go homicidal! My elbows are no longer the widest part of my arms! My collarbones no longer catch crumbs!

I love you, you recent 10 lbs of flesh. You are my best friend ever.

PS: Please don't hate me. It's just genetics.
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