While standing in a Walgreens taking photographs that resembled mug shots for my passport, I came to an interesting but somewhat sad realization a while back: boy, had I let myself go.
Not hair wise (my afro stays on point now that it’s big), but weight wise. I’m not sloppily put together at this juncture in my life, but just a few years ago I was considered slim and lean thanks to years of playing volleyball, basketball and just running like a madman (because that’s all you do in organized sports in high school). But once I hit college, things went downhill. There was no freshman 15. (Didn’t you hear? That’s a myth.) But there was the junior junk food year, when I moved into an apartment, no longer ate what was served in residence halls (like vegetables) and had to supply my own ish. BAD idea.
The day I knew I wasn’t a slim sistah anymore came around the time when my then boyfriend’s mother said to me, “You gaining a little weight aren’t you?” I thought she was just being a biggity bi***, until I went home for break and had my own mother say the exact same thing. OUCH. I guess you never really know when your butt is getting too wide until relatives let you know it.