He Gave Me the Belt

The holidays have gotten the better of me — and my waistline. Truth be told, my weight has been increasing ever since I welcomed Hubby home from Iraq. It was inevitable. My dining-out partner was back and with Hubby home, I was less bored; therefore, less prone to filling in my time with silly things like, oh, exercise.

So, tonight, while running errands (like returning aforementioned coffeemaker), I wore my favorite pair of fat phat pants. They’re actually a pair of somewhat ill-fitting boot cut Gap jeans, but at least they aren’t cutting off the circulation from my lower extremities.

While we were shopping at Safeway, Hubby drove the shopping cart. In his usual fashion, he went around to the next aisle and met me on the other side to avoid a crowd of oblivious aisle hogs. As I perused the Oriental Food section, I noticed Hubby holding his belt in his hands.

“Did you just take your belt off?” I asked him, thinking that maybe the tossed salad, spaghetti, garlic bread, 2 large pepsis and a banana royalle (hold the whipped cream and the nuts) from Zippy’s had prompted it.

He nodded and handed it to me.

“You want me to wear it, don’t you?” Taking the belt from him, I muttered, “I can’t believe you’re making me put on your belt here in the middle of Safeway. Do my baggy pants bother you that much?”

“I don’t like way it bunches like that in the front. When you made that comment before about it looking like you had a penis, I always notice it now.”

“Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe I’m putting on your belt in the middle of Safeway,” I said as I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was looking and buckled it on the last notch. “And even worse: it actually fits.”

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