The Power of Fat

Ordinarily, I look at the fat that's on my body as something entirely passive. Just this ring of flab, just below my waistline, giving me an unpleasantly lumpy profile.

But I'm going to see my platonic crush this afternoon, and I wanted to have a smoother profile, so I decided I would wear my tummy tucking underpants. For the men who read the blog, these are underpants that squeeze down rings of flab to make your stomach look flatter. I squeezed myself into the underpants this morning - squeeze being the correct description of how one gets into these garments, as they are engineered to hold their shape.

Everything was fine, at first. I got dressed and checked myself out in the full-length mirror. Looking good!

I started to realize that the fat was rebelling against being held in such tight quarters as I was driving to work. I could feel the fat pressing against the nylon/spandex layers of the undergarment, yearning to be free. As I got out of the car, some of the fat escaped, causing the waistband of the undergarment to roll southward, just a little.

I went to work and didn't really notice any new breaches against the spandex fat prison. But then I went to the restroom, and I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, hoping to enjoy another look at the smooth profile.

Instead, I saw what appeared to be a tumor of fat poking out above the ever retreating waistband of the tummy tuck underpants. I tried to roll it back up, but the fat was free and at war against the garment that kept it confined. Suddenly, my fat was actively working to make me look lumpy.

And I, French loving person that I am, surrendered. I'm going commando for the rest of the day. And my fat seems to be back to it's passive self again.

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