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Three Types of People Gaining Weight

chubbology

The Pouter

The Pouter resents the effect food has on them. How just one little bite of something can lead to a full blown stuffing, making them feel helpless to the weight they’re putting on in droves. They’re the type who displaces blame. It’s the brain’s fault. It’s genetics. It’s the genetically modified food that is making them too fat to walk without waddling a little. Healthy food is too expensive; junk food is too divine. Exercise is too time-consuming; sitting all day is a required part of their 9 to 5. They pout their way through the day at their desk, sucking on their daily venti frappe, which they carefully don’t realize has been fattening up their ass so badly that it doesn’t really fit in their chair anymore. They pout when their clothes don’t look quite right and blame the dryer for shrinking them. They get angry when the elevator goes out of order, forcing them to pant and heave their way up the stairwell. Then they get irate when there’s nothing good left in the pantry to fill them up once they finally get to their apartment in the evening. The only thing that soothes their nerves is take out, and so they eat a lot of take out. The trash bin is full of take out containers, along the coffee table, and the countertop. Sometimes they reach the bottom of a container, so full but still needing to consume more, so they get take out from somewhere else. They wake up heavier every morning, but they don’t know that. All they know is that (because their arms and chest have blown up so big with flab) it’s getting hard to cross their arms when they’re annoyed.

The Blusher

The Blusher is the type who effortlessly gains a few dozen pounds in winter weight and doesn’t even notice until the weather warms. They happily pack away their winter clothes, pull on a well-worn pair of shorts, and…with a sharp pang of dread, find they can’t even tug the denim all the way up their bulkier thighs. Even without anyone around to ogle their thighs, or their chubbier face, or their larger love handles—which their shirt can’t quite seem to cover—they flush pink. A little ashamed and a lot embarrassed. Because how did they not realize? They gently touch their belly, thicker and curvier than it should be. They look in the mirror. And…whoa. They’re girthy all over. Their limbs are large and heavy-looking and they just look so big. They gained weight and were totally oblivious. Oblivious to how all those special-occasion splurges and one-off binges added up. With whispered curses and last-ditch tugging attempts, the Blusher tries on more clothes and outfits, hoping against hope that they’re not as big as they look and feel. Except almost nothing fits. And their belly keeps jiggling when they turn and bend and stand. And the dusted-off scale is showing them a number they can’t possibly believe. No, no, no. They can’t be that fat. With tubby fingers, they search and calculate on their phone to see…to see that they are teetering on the far end of the Overweight box in the spectrum. Just to the right, the more ominous Obese box lies in wait, colored a deep red. They blush that very same color, down to their second chin.

The Lip-Biter

The Lip-Biter is the type who stands in the kitchen, stuffing their mouth with a fifth donut as they press their heavy belly a little firmer against the counter. They’ve gotten fat, really fat, and they know it, but they nevertheless put off getting new clothes using money excuses, telling themselves that it’s not a big deal if they stretch the seams a little. Except eventually it’s not just a little, and the Lip-Biter, swallowing hard every time they get dressed, knows that. The truth is, they feel a rush when they notice their buttons strain over their breasts and torso. They hold their breath when they sit down slowly and aren’t sure if something’s going to rip. They sneak candies and chocolates at every opportunity, wondering idly how fat they’re going to get if they keep their bad habits up. They bite their lip at the thought of getting so obese that normal daily routines become difficult. They’re already not as fast as they used to be; they already sweat easier. After work some days, they buy a cake of some kind for a fake occasion and eat the whole thing at home, forkful after forkful, lacking any will not to gorge themselves. They spread their thighs apart a little more and let their clothes slowly stretch and snap as they eat. Lick their lips and squirm in pleasure.