An Ode to my Belly.

Oh soft pot belly. We have a love, hate relationship. When I stand, you disappear. No muffin top. A bit of softness when poked, but allowing an outline of the abs that lay under you. When sitting, you fold softly over my pants. You do not roll, but instead just protrude out and over. You allow me to consume a Large Vegetable Lo Mein in one sitting, and several pints of beers.

You get bigger in the winter, and go away in the summer, causing my fluctuation of 15 pounds from the months of October until April. I work hard to try and get rid of you, but honestly, I love you. I want to be soft around the edges. Cozy to cuddle with, and a little extra softness from all the nutritious, rich foods I eat.

Oh soft pot belly. I would rather have you then miss out on all the fun adventures I have with my friends. Late night diner trips and excursions in the kitchen. I would be richer and skinnier, but I wouldn't have near the memories.

So everyone. Love your pot belly.


And from my most favored scene in Pulp Fiction :

Fabienne: No. Pot bellies make a man look either oafish, or like a gorilla. But on a woman, a pot belly is very sexy. The rest of you is normal. Normal face, normal legs, normal hips, normal *kitten*, but with a big, perfectly round pot belly. If I had one, I'd wear a tee-shirt two sizes too small to accentuate it.

Butch: You think guys would find that attractive?

Fabienne: I don't give a damn what men find attractive. It's unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.