We Need to Talk About Jeremiah

For those of you who are new to my discussions of weight gain, Jeremiah is my food baby. I make him out of butter and gummy worms. He generally appears somewhere around the end of January, after I’ve spent months sitting around on my bum, watching the world become snowier and snowier. Jeremiah, my food baby, is named after a particularly good looking man that I once went out on a date with. (We are still working out the custody terms.)

My food baby didn’t return last year. My grandmother pulled me aside last Thanksgiving and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to gain weight that winter. So I didn’t. Let it be known that my Gran cuts a forbidding figure when she wants to.

By contrast, this year, because of all of my sitting and studying, Jeremiah is back, and bigger than ever. One might even say that I’m carrying twin food babies if my newly enormous bottom counted; if so then I shall name him Erasmus. However, I didn’t realize how large my weight problem had become until yesterday.

Meredith, my new roommate and I are the same height, have the same shoe size, and we both have knockers so large that if we turn around too quickly while standing next to a child under the age of eight, they could be knocked unconscious. This especially applies to me, as my brassieres resemble Medieval fortresses; heavily constructed battalions, able to withstand the siege of walking quickly or running. The difference in our figures, is that Meredith has a tiny waist, which has become tinier compared to mine of late.

Though Meredith is uncomfortable with showing skin around me, I’ve taken to dashing down to the laundry room in only a bra and a skirt to search for an appropriate top. Prior to yesterday, I had been covert about this, peeking out of my bedroom to see if my roommate was in the kitchen and then sprinting for the stairs. I was running late Wednesday morning, so I burst out of my room and headed for lower, more-clothed ground, without nary a glance to see if Meredith was watching.

Apparently she was because when I returned from my half-naked search for a sweater, I found a pair of pants draped over the chair in my room. “I left a pair of pants for you to try on”. Meredith called cheerily from the kitchen. “They’re too big for me. I don’t know why I thought I was that huge.”

It would seem that Jeremiah is making his presence known to the world, or at the very least to my roommate, as I make my jiggly way to the basement every morning.

Daily Weirdness Wednesdays: Me and My Candy Pants

  1. I have an obsession with twenty-five cent candy machines. It’s getting a little out of hand actually; when my pockets turn up only dimes, I’ve debated busking next to the cheerful metal and glass containers full of jelly bean goodness. Tragically, whenever this happens the only song I can think of is invariably the Advantix flea jingle.
  2. Because of the aforementioned sugar fixation, I often store loose candy and occasionally cookies in my pockets. Surreptitiously eating one Skittle at a time out of my jacket while studying in the library brings me immense joy. As does returning home from church, having pocketed a Peek Freans chocolate cookie and whipping it out of my sweater, then waving my baked bounty in the air for Meredith*, my roommate, to see. A nicer person might swipe two cookies; however I question how well my offer of “Sweater cookie?” would go over with other people.
  3. A character from a show I adore, “Cougar Town” also does this, but with crackers. In one episode she is attacked by birds who want her “sweater crackers”. I live in fear of this, but with sugar crazed five year olds instead of sea gulls. I have no doubt that at some point, I will pass a birthday party, remove an M&M from my hoodie and then have to run for my life while icing coated children chase me with looks of murder and diabetes in their eyes.

    I would run exactly like this only with twenty small people right behind me. (Photo Credit: dailymail.co.uk)

    I would run exactly like this only with twenty small people right behind me. (Photo Credit: dailymail.co.uk)

  4. At one point, I held a job that required me to keep candy in my pant pockets (bought in bulk, not from those lovely red metal and glass machines). Once I was visiting Sula** after work and had forgotten to remove the candy from my pants beforehand. Emptying my back pocket, I offered some to her “Swedish Fish?” She took it and then commented “Ooh it’s warm.” This memory of my beloved friend never ceases to make me laugh.
  5. Again, it isn’t Wednesday. Is it weird if you lose all track of the days of the week? Or is it only weird if you claim to have fallen into a space time warp and that an alien probed you? Whichever of those excuses is more acceptable- I’m going to go with that one.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of people who have yet to use a cross bow but in whose ability I’m slightly afraid of.

**Names have been changed to protect the identities of those who eat food out of my pants. Because I feel like that kind of things shouldn’t get around.