"I know why you're trying to lose weight," the Wife said with a smart-alecky hmph, "Hmph!"
The fact is, I am.
When I hit my 30s, so did my waistline. And the way these things go, it just creeps up on you. One minute you're the kid everyone calls Bones, and the very next minute you're a tub of lard. I went from being a 50kg teenager, to a 60kg college boy, to a 75kg groom to a 91kg hippo during Chinese New Year this year.
For the last couple of years, I had been clocking in at 86kg - 88kgs. Wasn't going up, and I was certainly not getting any thinner. But then came CNY, the big-ass feast in my house, and I found myself at a whopping 91kgs. That's when I decided to shed some serious poundage. (But not before stuffing my face one last time on CNY leftovers, heh!)
Anyway, after weeks of counting calories, I'm now at 84kgs. It's That's 7 kgs down, but I'd really like to be 75kgs, or thereabouts. Or at least 80kgs by next month.
"You wanna be thin for your Baby Girl!" Mae said, as she laughed her ass off.
"Well, why not?" I asked the silly monkey woman. "Baby deserves to have a thin and handsome father."
Mae argues that Baby will never know the difference. But that's not true at all. Some day our little girl will grow up and when she gets her hands on her baby pictures, holding her in his skinny arms will be her thin and handsome Daddy. (Right next to her tubby Mommy, of course) Bwahahaahah!
It's probably time to hit the gym. Or I'll never hear the end of it.