Belly: (n) the front part of the human trunk below the ribs, containing the stomach and bowels.
I’ve always tried to stay optimistic because if I become downcast, I see my belly, which only adds to the depression.
I don’t know whether you’re supposed to see your belly when you look down. Some people might have a view of other anatomical parts.
But not me.
Since I was a lad of seven, my belly has preceded me into affairs. It pushes itself to the forefront, trying to establish dominance and certainly, advertise other potential character flaws.
I have tried to lose my belly–but apparently there is some sort of snitch in my brain which always informs this large protrusion of my intentions.
The belly protects itself.
If I try to starve it out, it prepares for the siege.
It actually seems to be proud of its acreage. I, on the other hand, keep trying to find pants to cover it up.
I am not alone in this situation. Occasionally, when I stop to look at other people, I see that they, too, have accumulated quite an impressive forerunner to their forthcoming.
In other words, they have big bellies.
I have read that in history, possessing such a large amount of flesh was once considered to be a symbol of prosperity. That was a time when starvation was common, and obesity was evidence that you could put food on your table.
As I write this today, I am not sure that my belly will ever leave.
It is a damn sentimental creature of habit.