Woke Up — Fat!

Yesterday, my alarm decided not to ring, but to croak. I open my eyes — and realize: something in the Universe has shifted. The mirror, which yesterday shyly pretended to be furniture, today suddenly declared itself an X-ray machine with the ambitions of a lie detector. It looks at me as if it’s about to fine me for exceeding the body mass limit in a residential area.

"Oh, hello, old friend," I announce to the glassy distance. "Another interrogation with prejudice?"

And in response — not a sound. Only my reflection snorts so loudly it seems like there’s a hedgehog inside me who’s survived three office parties in a row, even though the last party was in a previous era. My belly, which yesterday was modestly called a "hamster stash," now declares itself an "emergency reserve in case of sudden alien invasion." My hips have called an extraordinary congress and unanimously voted to annex more territory. My cheeks have suddenly become round as a globe, as if I spent the whole night secretly chewing dumplings and dreaming of space.

I flop onto the bed. The bed creaks as if trying to send a coded message: "SOS! Overload!" No "good morning," no "hello, joy," just pure "wow, ma’am, you’re really something."

Yesterday’s heroic refusal of a second piece of cake flashes through my mind. "Stop!" I commanded myself. "Tomorrow I’ll be just like in the ads." But my body decided to play "Feast During the Plague": "Today we destroy everything that isn’t hidden." The yogurt shone with pride when it was eaten at 11:47 pm — that was its moment of glory.

Now here I am, pondering: where’s the justice? Men wake up — they become stern hedgehogs. And us? We immediately get a quest: "Find the extra volume." One day without the gym — and the body stages an October Revolution. Fat cells climb the barricades: "Freedom and more space!"

A special kind of art — sucking in your stomach in front of the mirror. I sucked it in. The world held its breath. For three seconds. Then I exhaled — and somewhere from the depths of my waist came the quiet voice of an ancient belt: "Thank you, sister."

Friends recommend: "Water, salad, walks." Yeah, right. The water ran out on the third day, the salad choked on its own freshness, and I can only walk on excursions to the fridge. That’s a sport too. Especially if you step on a stray piece of pasta with your bare foot in the dark — that’s Olympic-level cardio.

So, brothers and sisters in sudden expansion! Let’s admit it: we’re not fat. We’re just accumulating experience. In volume. In greatly expanded volume. And if anyone wants to argue — spit in their salad. Only in the diet one, so they won’t take it personally.

And now I’m off. Need to hold an emergency summit with my reflection. In raised tones, with a temporary truce until next Tuesday. Or Wednesday. As usual.

Dedicated to Kroshka.