As I’ve got older I’ve got a bit thicker around the middle.
(To be honest, in my case it’s probably mostly to do with my recent discovery of Duck Island ice cream, it is delicious and I have no regrets.) As a result, however, I have some clothes I like that aren’t quite as comfortable as they used to be. I’m loathe to throw them away, though, not because I imagine that one day I’ll go on a successful diet, but because I might develop cancer or some sort of wasting disease and then at least I’ll have one positive to come out of it: being able to comfortably fit it into my old favoured outfits. Imagine getting sick and thinking “I could fit that super cute dress now if I hadn’t thrown it away!” How much more bitter and sharp than a dead serpent’s tooth would that be??
These are the sort of thoughts that my husband thinks I should seek therapy for.
