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Oct 2018
Another Fifteen

Exhausted, chasing little people all day at the
Small Fry nursery school made me want to come home
and take a nap in the afternoon. The second job I wasn’t on my feet, working behind a desk. Typing on a keyboard until my long,

polished nails chipped. Fifteen pounds added on, hugged
my already curvy hips. But it was fun dressing up in
skirts and high-heeled shoes, fancy blouses with silk buttons, and wearing perfume. When the lay-offs came I stayed home

all day, peering into my refrigerator out of boredom. I put
another fifteen pounds on. And added to the last fifteen, I looked like a pudgy, Italian girl all of five foot two in bare feet,
with no shoes. This is when I switched from skirts to sweet-pants

and long tees  that covered my derrière, almost down
to my knees. I was trying to get pregnant. But my ovulation was
off.  So I went to the fertility doctor. And he gave me some drugs that put another fifteen pounds more on my already-tudball

frame. I was ecstatic; after two cycles I got pregnant! Went and bought baby furniture and cleared out a room. But it wasn’t meant to be and I miscarried. I dove into a deep depression over losing baby Sarah, and ballooned up to one-hundred and seventy-five,

after yet another fifteen pounds were added to my hide. I wouldn’t leave the house. No one saw me that fat. On my small frame I looked a mountain and felt as a wide-end Mack. No one believes me when they see me today how much I struggled with my weight.
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
142
 
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