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Is it middle age? Is it the food over here? I had a huge shock this morning on the scale. Damn it. True, I have been less careful recently. You have got to live a little bit, right?
I am not that fat. My BMI, as they say, is still in the ‘healthy’ range. Right now, as I am writing from my favourite coffe shop in Hammersmith, there is a lady stuffing her face with three ham & cheese croissants. She is so huge that she has to sit on two chairs. Compared to her I am skinny. I love London for this: even when I am a bit fatter, I feel thin (isch). It wouldn’t be the case in Paris. Sometimes, living in London is liberating.
I digress. Compared to 10 years ago, I am a stone heavier. Where did this come from? Truth be told, I don’t want to go on a diet. I don’t do diets. I am far too old for diets anyway. And honestly, isn’t life too short to put my body through the pain of a diet?
Diets are boring. I like exercising from time to time but I am not a fitness fanatic. What to do?
On the bright side, my face is lovely, no wrinkles or anything. French guys say that, after a certain age, a woman has to choose between her bum and her face . They must be right: I chose my face. No injections needed, all this fat is keeping me plump.
I thought that French women were not supposed to get fat. Sigh. I was wrong. Maybe when I became British, I lost the French privilege not to get fat? I wonder.
The French way to lose weight would be to start smoking and maybe take a lover for more, let’s say, exercise. But I am British now. I don’t smoke and frankly, a lover would be far too complicated. Not to mention that I am happily married.
I will keep the chocolate and my extra stone. The other options don’t really sound too appealing. What would you do?
Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London