"This belt is getting too small for me" (i grumbled once upon a time and nothing has changed much since then so i'll repost the tale...)

...viewing the behaviour of a loyal and trusted belt that i'd owned for many years as something approaching high treason. After all we had been through together, how could it now turn on me and begin trying to strangle me around the waist?

Never before had it been so cruel, always allowing me to fasten it on the notches further in, whereas now it was stubbornly refusing to let me tighten it further than the last notch, with evident and spiteful resistance.

"Maybe you're getting too fat for it?" my wife coolly asked, although i noticed a chuckle in her voice as she spoke.

Do i soldier on with a belt that has obviously grown to despise me and wants to find itself in service to a slimmer set of hips?

Do i seek out a new larger belt that will happily accommodate my needs or do i face the grim reality of life and, God forbid, consider the employment of braces from now on?

The most hurtful thing in all of this is that none of it is my fault! I have suffered through my manners and politeness, deeming it an honourable courtesy to consume every morsel of fine food or pudding that my wife puts before me.

She has bewitched me with trifles, meringues, chocolate strawberries and sundry other desserts over the years, added to the merry feasts served as a main courses too.

Discovering, alas too late, that this has all been some secret plot from day one to ensure that i grow too obese ever to escape her clutches, i sit and fume quietly.

Perhaps i begin to suspect that she views me as her Sovereign and is attempting to make my figure similar to good King Henry VIII's famously portly frame.

Off with her head!!!

One Year Ago:

Remembering Fanny

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