My stomach betrays me on a daily basis it seems. I think it has some sort of covert agreement-slash-understanding with the mass of cells and blood vessels that reside in my skull. I don't know which comes first... the thought, suggestion... or the antagonizing growl of my gut.
As of late, however, this powerful partnership of belly and brain have seduced me; taken me to some foreign land of human existence in which humanity does not suffer at the hands of obesity and over eating. This is a land that hosts beautiful flowing rivers of chocolate, mountains of garlic mashed potatoes and festively adorned chips and salsa.
In the colder climates you can experience the ice cream tundras.
Further to the south, where the sun dances closer to the surface (at approximately 350 degrees give or take), there are neighborhoods of delicious casseroles, chicken drenched in bbq sauces and savory baked confections.
Amidst the more lukewarm regions my senses steal me away to vast parks of individually wrapped hostess cakes, peanut butter by the heap-fulls, and the occasional whatever dipped in ranch dressing.
The cruelest portion on my proverbial plate, however, is the changing image of the person in the mirror. The brain-slash-belly love affair slaps me in the face with a "you're not included!" attached. Apparently my hips, thighs and upper arms are not allowed quite the same access to this consequence-free dream world.
I recall the days of freedom from this food oppression. I remember when I was able to look saturated fat right in the eye and denounce it. Ahhh... the belly betrays me daily. It lies.
And my hips are declaring war.
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