chapter 5: packing it on

By the time the holidays had ended that year my size forties joined Carol's size twelves in the back of the closets and drawers, and had been replaced by the next sizes up.

It turned out that Carol had been wrong and her mother had been right; the weight didn't come off. Quite the opposite, in fact. We kept putting it on. The only way we were going to lose any weight, of course, was to cut back on our calories, but the dreaded "D" word was not in our vocabularies. We weren't gaining quite as fast as we had the first couple of years, but the numbers on the scale were continuing to climb steadily.

To celebrate our fourth anniversary we took a two week cruise around the Caribbean and by our fifth anniversary were beginning to discuss having a family. I recall a couple of events from around that time that made me realize we had crossed over the imaginary line that separates "plump," "chubby," and "stocky" from just plain old fat.

We were finishing breakfast one Sunday morning at the diner and were enjoying our usual large milkshakes. I happened to glance at Carol sitting to my right and noticed a slight tear to her top just under the armpit. Through the rip bulged the offending flesh that had forced it's way through the seam. The blouse hadn't looked particularly snug when I had seen her put it on a couple of hours before, but now that she was seated and finishing off a meal that must have contained close to 2,000 calories, it was so tight that the buttons had begun to gap around her soft midriff. Bending her head slightly so her straw could catch the last of the shake, I noticed the new thickness of her double chin.

A few minutes later, as I followed her out of the diner, the size of her backside in those tight jeans made me realize for the first time just how much weight my wife had put on. It hadn't started to shelve yet, that would come later, but she was packing a wide load for sure. I didn't know how much she'd gained since we'd been married. I guessed that it had to be at least 60 pounds. and sitting at a desk all day had caused lots of it to go to her rear.

I suddenly became aware of the fact that I had probably gained even more weight than my wife. I'd also put away a very large breakfast that morning topped off by the usual shake and, as I followed her large backside out the door, was painfully conscious that my stomach had grown at least as much as Carol's hips.

Another event that stands out in my mind from that time was an evening just after our fifth anniversary.

We had gone to dinner at a popular local steakhouse and, of course, had splurged. We'd both enjoyed a couple of beers at the bar while snacking on a pair of appetizers. Then we each ordered the twelve ounce sirloin and baked potato (With butter and extra sour cream.). After cleaning the plates of our main course, we both somehow managed to find room for our favorite dessert: cheesecake. No sharing for us, even following those very large meals. We each put away every morsel of a generous slice.

My size 44 Dockers were uncomfortably tight, and as we drove home I couldn't wait to get into the house, unbutton them, and give my stomach some room to breathe.

We were both so full, that as soon as we got home we flopped down heavily on the couch, but not before I had opened my pants and pulled the zipper down halfway. I noticed immediately that Carol had suffered a slight "wardrobe malfunction."

"Honey," I said, "I think you had a little accident with your skirt."

"What? Where?"

"Down there by the zipper." The seam that connects the material to the zipper of her skirt had given way exposing the flesh beneath. I found it sort of amusing to realize that my wife had actually split open her skirt.

"Dammit!" Carol exclaimed angrily.

"Relax, Honey. It's no big deal."

"The big deal is that it means I have to go shopping. That was the last skirt I own that I could still get into!"

Then I decided to be bold and ask her the $64,000 Question.

"How much do you weigh these days, Carol?"

"I have no idea," she replied, pretending to be highly offended. "I never weigh myself."

"Come on!" I scoffed playfully. "Yes you do. We were at Betty Jean's last weekend and they have a scale in their bathroom. I weighed myself and I'll bet you did too! So give it up and tell me!"

"Okay," she said. "But you have to guess."

"Hmmm.......let's see. Two hundred?"

"No," she said loudly. "You have some nerve! I weigh less than two hundred."

"How much less?" I asked.

"Two pounds."

We both began laughing.

"Well, you're right," I joked. "You're definitely less than two hundred, but there's certainly more of you now than we got married!"

"Me? What about you?" she said while reaching over and shaking my very prominent full stomach. "You sure didn't have all this belly when I married you! While we're on the subject, how much do you weigh?"

"Take a guess."

"Hmmm.......240?"

"No way! Are you kidding? Much less than 240!"

"Alright, how much less?"

"Three pounds."

It's rather odd that we found this so humorous. In five years Carol had put on almost seventy pounds and I had gained more than seventy-five, and yet we were laughing like it was the funniest thing ever. I guess it shows how unconcerned we were about getting fat.

"I'm going to have to go shopping with you. These are getting too uncomfortable," I said.

"Uh-oh," Carol replied. "You know what that means?"

"What?"

" ;It means you've graduated, Honey."

"Graduated? What do you mean 'graduated'?"

"It means you've graduated to the Big and Tall section, Tommy. Obviously, you've outgrown your 44s. That's the largest of the regular sizes."

"Really? Stop teasing me."

"I'm not teasing you, Honey," she said while again reaching over to pat my belly. "My nice, big boy needs big boy pants now!"

"Well you can't talk, Miss 'I Just Split My Skirt'! What size are you graduating to?"

"Lane Bryant has lovely fashions in size 18."

"I guess we're paying the price for all those milkshakes," I said rather wistfully.

"I don't care," she said quickly. "It's worth it. I love those milkshakes."

"Yeah, but look at that," I said and pointed to our wedding picture on the wall. "Look how skinny we were back then."

"Tell me about it! I can't believe I fit into that tiny dress. I couldn't squeeze my nose into it now. But remember how miserable we were? I like being able to eat what I want."

"So do I, Carol. But do you think we're too fat now? Should we go on a diet?"

"First of all, we are not fat. Betty Jean and Bobby are fat. We're just......bigger than we used to be. Second, I told you when we got married that I am never going on another diet! If you think I'm too fat, divorce me," she said with a smile.

"Okay, fine," I teased. "Then maybe I'll just decide to go on a diet by myself."

That comment caused Carol to burst out laughing.

"You? Go on a diet? Don't make me laugh! You wouldn't be able to stick to a diet for two days, Tommy. You haven't turned down dessert in five years! Besides, you don't have to lose any weight. I think your belly is cute." At that, she gave my stomach another jiggle.

"Really?"

"Ye s. It makes you look distinguished. Don't worry about it, Tommy. We just look........happily married. We'll just start watching it a little bit. The weight'll come off. You'll see."

Carol got up and went into the kitchen returning with a package of Double Stuff Oreos and a glass of whole milk. She was splurging again.

That weekend we hit the mall combining it with the usual stop at the food court. Things like that were one of our main downfalls. We just had no willpower; no ability at all to resist temptation. That's what I meant when I wrote earlier that we had a love affair with food. Carol had suggested that we "start watching it a little bit," but when it came to food we just couldn't say no.

Anyway, while Carol made her way to the plus size shop, I hit Penney's and found that she had been correct; the regular sizes stopped at 44. My waistline had indeed expanded into the Big and Tall section. I tried on the 46s which fit okay but didn't have much room to spare, so just to be on the safe side I picked up a few pairs of 48s.

I'm not sure about Carol, but shopping for larger clothes was really the only occasion when I would be forced to confront the amount of weight I was putting on. The bright lights and full size mirrors in the dressing room gives one a much clearer picture of how one really looks. That day, probably for the first time, I thought I looked fat. The reflection staring back at me almost looked like a stranger. A fat stranger.

After five years of good eating and little exercise my face was fat, round, and double chinned. In fact, in the bright lights, I could make out that the double chin had thickened my neck and was beginning to spread up and encircle my entire face in a roll of fat.

I held up the new, size 48 pants I was about to try on, and was struck by how big they were. These must be way too large, I thought. I cant be that big. But they fit just fine. I was no longer the skinny, 160 pound guy who had walked down the aisle. The Tommy in the mirror weighed almost 240 pounds, had a good sized belly, a soft, rather flabby chest, wide thighs, a spreading backside, and looked completely out of shape. There was more than enough of me to fill up those 48s.

As Carol and I walked out of the mall carrying bags containing clothes in our new sizes, I wondered if, while she was trying them on, she had been confronted by the same uncomfortable truths.

It occurred to me that we now looked like only slightly smaller versions of some of our larger friends.