This is about my pants. The thing is, they’ve gotten a little tight in the last few months. I can still get them zipped and all, but the fabric’s really working a little bit harder than it should have to.
Here at Real Estate Tangent HQ, we like to be proactive about such matters. We like to get things under control before they really get out of hand. Because of this, we’ve launched a full investigation into this crime against humanity and self-esteem. We’ve collected evidence, interviewed eye witnesses and even paid our snitches 20 bucks to give up the goods. We want to know who’s behind this travesty of beauty and slim thighs before he ups the ante and someone accidentally gets photographed with back fat hanging out of her shirt.
Using our vast array of resources, we’ve compiled a list of the top 8 suspects who are capable of committing this atrocity. The suspects should be considered armed with calories and carbohydrates and dangerous. They could be working alone or teaming up to achieve their ultimate goal: a future full of elastic-waist pants, large shapeless t-shirts and one-piece swimsuits with attached skirts.
Here’s a set of mug shots to help you identify the perpetrators. If you see one of them, call for backup, don’t try to take them down alone. You’ll only end up popping buttons off your favorite khaki skirt, just like me.
Butter. He can seem harmless, but he’s a known diet felon. Often see hanging out with Suspect 7:
Fresh baked sourdough bread. So very, very hard to resist when I’m making toast for the kids for breakfast.
Tiny baby Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, given to me by my husband because I was mad at him. Which I cannot stop eating, in part because I feel like I earned them. He was a jerk and these are what he gave me so I would forgive him. For the sake of our marriage I must finish the bag, right?
Bacon. It has the ability to make my healthy, harmless veggie wrap into a delicious, dangerous diet infraction. And even though I know this, I add it every time.
Chipotle. It’s not the tacos with the sour cream and barbacoa meat that are the problem (although they’re good friends with my muffin top, too), it’s the bag of limey, salty, awesome chips and perfectly garlicy and spicy medium salsa that will someday turn me into the 900 pound woman who has to be crane-lifted out of her house when she dies. I eat the entire bag by myself. I eat them until I’m sick. Then I puke and eat some more. I think there’s a dusting of crack on those chips.
Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream. The bastard gets me every time. I just can’t say no to him. The worst part is he knows it.
Individually-sized Brie. What sick son of a bitch invented brie so perfectly sized and contained that you can eat it without even the excuse of a gathering of friends or the opening of a bottle of fine wine, I may never know. But I do know the bastard will someday rot in hell while visions of my love handles belly dance before him.
And the ultimate criminal and most dangerous of the crew, Suspect 1:
Boxed Wine. He’s insidious in his attractive packaging and ease of use. After a couple of glasses, when I’ve lost count of my beverage intake, I can’t even tell by how empty the bottle is whether I’ve had one glass or five. He cheers me up and seems so light and harmless. But he’s packed with calories and then lowers my resistance to others, like Suspect 3. Flappy arm fat, I christen thee, Sauvignon Blanc.
Be vigilant, People. Help me take these criminals down. I know we can do it together.