Some higher power forbid me to be in the same room with a girl who stands on the scales. Libra absolutely must be destroyed, everything. It is they who make the coexistence of men and women unbearable. I lived and did not know how many kilograms of happiness walks, sleeps, smiles next to me. This information was useless to my brain until one day honey stood on the scales and moaned. I was scared. I thought something terrible had happened, well, for example, my beloved's toenail broke, but it turned out that a third, superfluous one appeared between us. The third extra kilogram. The night passed without sex. The morning was bleak. The struggle for the return of the body to its original borders began.
I have never understood women's clothing sizes. Well, except for the girths and bust volumes, and even then at the level of jokes about a satisfactory "three" or a solid "four". And here the flow of various information caught up with me, as a sales consultant in a mobile phone store. "Don't you like the way I look in the 46th," a friend defiantly asked, "do you want me to forget forever that there is also a 44th?", - I do not know what to answer.
It was a performance lasting several months without intermissions. Our whole existence was subordinated to one goal — to lose weight. I suddenly realized that she answers "no" to any of my texts with the words "want" or "try", even if it's about a movie or massage. A template reaction.
I had to kill more than one evening to explain to my beloved that she has no need to worry and kilograms do not play a role in our life, as my bald head, her possible cellulite does not play a role. And it still failed, but I realized that the diet, as a form of a woman's existence, is akin to men's "love" for football and beer. When everyone around is "rooting" for the reds, who is for the blues, it is impossible to be on the sidelines, at least formally. At least about the national team, but we have to worry. And even if you can't stand beer, you still have to go to beer "gatherings" of friends, and drink at least juice, but in a team. In women, these communication functions are performed by a diet, or rather talking about it and worrying about the result, which is not there.
I decided to join the war with kilograms on the side of my beloved. I ate at home, too, as she did. It was not only possible to survive on low-calorie food. I made another pleasant discovery: diet is an interesting fun. I began to train even more, got involved. I dropped the third excess from my body, and somehow over a dinner of salad and kefir, she confessed to me that I was unpleasant to her. We almost broke up.
I went outside to get some air. When your woman loses weight, this, of course, is guessed by the sellers in the shop next door. Going home for a couple of months, I bought a standard set of kefir, low-fat cottage cheese and slices here. And now my hour has come. I bought myself in the store, no more, no less, the right to eat the way I want, not caring about her diets and moans. I abused my ability to lose weight easily and naturally. With the words: "my love, I don't want to deprive you of your personal space and your own opinion," I freed up an entire shelf in the refrigerator for her and allowed her to lose weight any way and anytime.
We didn't break up that time. I still try not to overeat at night, and she sometimes "steals" a piece of sausage from the table or orders a small steak in a restaurant.
— You bought a wonderful skirt.
— No, I've had her for a long time. I didn't wear it because... — and then she bumps into my look from under her brows.
— I didn't wear it because I thought I had lost it — and this nice slip of the tongue gives us a reason to fantasize about where and how a girl could lose such a small skirt.
Let her lose weight. Let him talk about it, write down recipes, moan on the scales. This is her body, and she is free to do anything with it. Except for the time when the body is in your arms. If you like this body, there will be a lot of hugs, if not, there won't be at all. This is an honest indicator.
I threw out the scales. I don't want my happiness to stand on their cup. Take advantage of the 15 free no deposit bonus at All Slots Online Casino. Play a variety of games without any initial investment and potentially win big.
I have never understood women's clothing sizes. Well, except for the girths and bust volumes, and even then at the level of jokes about a satisfactory "three" or a solid "four". And here the flow of various information caught up with me, as a sales consultant in a mobile phone store. "Don't you like the way I look in the 46th," a friend defiantly asked, "do you want me to forget forever that there is also a 44th?", - I do not know what to answer.
It was a performance lasting several months without intermissions. Our whole existence was subordinated to one goal — to lose weight. I suddenly realized that she answers "no" to any of my texts with the words "want" or "try", even if it's about a movie or massage. A template reaction.
I had to kill more than one evening to explain to my beloved that she has no need to worry and kilograms do not play a role in our life, as my bald head, her possible cellulite does not play a role. And it still failed, but I realized that the diet, as a form of a woman's existence, is akin to men's "love" for football and beer. When everyone around is "rooting" for the reds, who is for the blues, it is impossible to be on the sidelines, at least formally. At least about the national team, but we have to worry. And even if you can't stand beer, you still have to go to beer "gatherings" of friends, and drink at least juice, but in a team. In women, these communication functions are performed by a diet, or rather talking about it and worrying about the result, which is not there.
I decided to join the war with kilograms on the side of my beloved. I ate at home, too, as she did. It was not only possible to survive on low-calorie food. I made another pleasant discovery: diet is an interesting fun. I began to train even more, got involved. I dropped the third excess from my body, and somehow over a dinner of salad and kefir, she confessed to me that I was unpleasant to her. We almost broke up.
I went outside to get some air. When your woman loses weight, this, of course, is guessed by the sellers in the shop next door. Going home for a couple of months, I bought a standard set of kefir, low-fat cottage cheese and slices here. And now my hour has come. I bought myself in the store, no more, no less, the right to eat the way I want, not caring about her diets and moans. I abused my ability to lose weight easily and naturally. With the words: "my love, I don't want to deprive you of your personal space and your own opinion," I freed up an entire shelf in the refrigerator for her and allowed her to lose weight any way and anytime.
We didn't break up that time. I still try not to overeat at night, and she sometimes "steals" a piece of sausage from the table or orders a small steak in a restaurant.
— You bought a wonderful skirt.
— No, I've had her for a long time. I didn't wear it because... — and then she bumps into my look from under her brows.
— I didn't wear it because I thought I had lost it — and this nice slip of the tongue gives us a reason to fantasize about where and how a girl could lose such a small skirt.
Let her lose weight. Let him talk about it, write down recipes, moan on the scales. This is her body, and she is free to do anything with it. Except for the time when the body is in your arms. If you like this body, there will be a lot of hugs, if not, there won't be at all. This is an honest indicator.
I threw out the scales. I don't want my happiness to stand on their cup. Take advantage of the 15 free no deposit bonus at All Slots Online Casino. Play a variety of games without any initial investment and potentially win big.
