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The Fat ***** Factor
Mar. 29th, 2004 10:12 amI have an interview at a temp agency today. They have asked me to bring my passport. I pull out my black suit, the one made to fit me perfectly in Brazil, two year ago. I try the trousers and realize my stomach hangs out of it like a bursting water bottle. I am fat.
No, I'm not fat. I'm normal looking. I'm actually perfect in height and weight. I'm 70 kilos (give or take 4 kilos) and 6 foot. Or 147 pounds and 1.80 metres. But my weight is not muscle, it's localized fat. And that my friends is all thanks to drinking too many caipirinhas in Brasil: sugar + lime + ice + sugar cane spirits = tubby ollie.
Now I know what it feels like to have your trousers pinch your waist, to suck in your gut and feel your breath shorten. Now I know what it feels like to crave a prolongued fast, to eat only popcorn (no butter) for the next fortnight. That, my friends, is the situation in ollie land.
I called Kevin (who worked for said temp agency) and he said it would be alright for me to go in my blue cords (Bekki has seen them. :P) and my black shirt. Smart casual. And I need a hair cut too.
No, I'm not fat. I'm normal looking. I'm actually perfect in height and weight. I'm 70 kilos (give or take 4 kilos) and 6 foot. Or 147 pounds and 1.80 metres. But my weight is not muscle, it's localized fat. And that my friends is all thanks to drinking too many caipirinhas in Brasil: sugar + lime + ice + sugar cane spirits = tubby ollie.
Now I know what it feels like to have your trousers pinch your waist, to suck in your gut and feel your breath shorten. Now I know what it feels like to crave a prolongued fast, to eat only popcorn (no butter) for the next fortnight. That, my friends, is the situation in ollie land.
I called Kevin (who worked for said temp agency) and he said it would be alright for me to go in my blue cords (Bekki has seen them. :P) and my black shirt. Smart casual. And I need a hair cut too.
