They Say French Women Don’t Get Fat

Chapter 1 - You know what they say...

They say French women don't get fat.

She isn't fat, not really - just a little chunky or chubby or maybe pleasantly plump.

Not fat, but she has a beautiful little tummy, the result of so much delicious bread and the hormonal ravages of puberty which will always play wonderfully fun tricks on the bodies of young people. She has just turned 22, so puberty is behind her as are the days when she had a flat stomach. No more of that. At least not without dieting and exercise.

And she had grown a bit too lazy for exercise. And dieting meant she could not indulge her appetites for delicious foods.

The sand slips through the hourglass, and ahead of her, who knew what wonders await! Perhaps even more of a tummy from love, from comfort, from loss of love, from marriage, from pregnancy, from grief, from aging, from the gluttony of life itself.

Her alluring figure is like an hourglass where the middle bulges out just a bit too much. Her belly is round and sensuous, warm and adorable, the kind of belly men once worshiped. It is the belly of a goddess.

Her breasts are ripe and full, the cleavage deep and inviting. Her hips are wide and wonderfully soft, framed by small love handles, held up by thick creamy thighs. Like the bread she craves, she is so doughy. After all, you are what you eat.

She says she wants to lose that little belly. But her lazy lifestyle and bread are not worth the sacrifice. She worries that she might get fat.

They say French women don't get fat.

She isn't fat, not really - not yet.

I am glad she isn't French.

-END-

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Here's a little poetry for the season:

"Post-Thanksgiving Ode to Gluttony"
By Zonker

You filled your gut with stuffing.
Your body's grown quite plump.
Eating potatoes and gravy,
You've become a big fat lump.
The turkey was so delicious,
As were those fourteen pies.
Decadent memories of Thanksgiving
On your thickened waist and thighs.


*inspired by Grandpa Jones' Thanksgiving rhyme