Imagine Valentine’s weekend 2014. Like all Februarys in Colorado, the temperature was up and down. Rain one day, snow the next. I don’t typically mind it because it’s a short month and the onset of March means no more below freezing temperatures. I really hate winter. Six-thirty in the morning before I teach yoga and I’m doing some tidying. Clean the kitchen, run the dishwasher, and take out the rubbish. One wrong step off the front porch and I ended up tits over ass in the driveway. The ankle was shattered.
Okay, my mother would say you’re getting fat, but most polite society won’t. And with good fucking reason. It’s none of their goddamn business. Maybe you have a thyroid condition or a metabolic disorder. Or perhaps, you are tired of dealing with all of the calorie counting bullshit and said fuck it. The problem for me is if no one says you’re getting fat, I don’t notice. Until I see a picture of myself. You fucking know it.