bulging tummy and peeping nipples

I feel like a fish with a paunch. After a hefty lunch of greens, fish fillet, and potatoes, all my blood is swishing merrily around my stomach, gyrating to the syncopated rhythm of my villi’s feverish mush-sucking. I feel like there’s no blood left in my brain cells. They’re all enjoying the rave party down there in my midsection. That is also another way of saying that this post will most probably be crappy. Let that serve as a caveat for you. Hey, don’t blame me. Blame my brain cells. Or my damn, party-crazed blood.

I pigged out at our office's ceremonial contract signing held in some hotel. I wasn’t supposed to be there but my boss called to have a soft copy of the contract sent there pronto. Since all our delivery boys were out, I had no choice but to rush to the hotel myself despite the menace of a typhoon hanging by a thin thread above me. When I got there and savored the gush of fulfillment that came with my first stint as a delivery boy, I told my boss I would return to the office and do some important stuff like sit in front of my computer and pretend to work. The boss said no, stay for the buffet lunch, you’re here anyway. That’s how I got to pig out big time, ladling tons of potato salad, fresh lettuce, baked potatoes, greased veggies, fish fillet, and rice until my plate looked like a dish of gourmet slops. Not being satisfied with just one helping, I again took another empty plate and filled it to capacity.

Why did I choose to wear a body-fit shirt today, of all days? Now, in order to hide my bloated tummy, I have to spend the rest of the day trying to expand my chest until my nipples tear through the fabric. Which reminds me, I’ve got to bench-press more vigorously tonight; and of course, do some serious crunches too. I must prepare for another ‘gobble up’ session this evening. I’ve cornered a sizeable amount of lunch debris from the hotel (I didn’t get that through wheeling and dealing with the waiters, mind you. My office organized and paid for the event so we get to take home whatever’s left of the food). And I’m going to feast on them at the boarding house later. That’s what I do, I binge and then hit the gym or the pool or the badminton court to sweat it all out. At least, that’s better than facing the toilet bowl and inducing myself to puke my hairy balls out like some bulimic supermodel.

And so, as I write this post and pretend it’s part of my job description, I only have my eyes set on gluttony tonight. Small food packs wrapped in tin foil lay on my desk, seducing me to dig in and indulge. Later, bitches, can’t you see I still have work to do? Ok, perhaps a tiny bite won’t hurt. Oh, what the heck, I’ll go eat again. My tummy can’t get any bigger than this and my nipples will surely enjoy a tear on my shirt.