I'm not a person that looks fat. I have broad shoulders, and a huge chest. I have thighs a rugby player would kill for.
Really, I do.
But you know what? I am a fat bastard. Really, I am. It's spread right across me, and it becomes more apparent, the less exercise I do. I am fucking huge.
I am 5' 6", and I weigh about 16 stone 7lbs. Maybe more. Maybe less, but if it's less it's because I have lost muscle.
Why am I being damning?
I just broke the bed. Not at the screws, either – I broke the bed where I got on it. It's a bit fucked. It's a really beautiful bed, and fundamentally it will be fine. Be the bit that the slats attach to, that's fucked. Right now it's shored up by books, but after a trepidatious start, I thought I would not lie on it at all after fucking it.
Seriously, who's so heavy their fucking bed breaks? I am!
I am away for the weekend, and next week work is mental. However, this is such a fucking embarrassment that... I don't know. How humiliating for your wife to wake up after what, four, five months of marriage, to discover her husband is such a fat fucker he's killed the bed?
Really, I feel like a total twat.
1 comment:
No, you don't look fat. I don't know what to say about the bed, because it's quite funny but I'm sympathetic, really.
At least your wife knew before you married her, not as if you've put on several stones since.
It's my sons that get me, one is a six-footer and weighs half a stone less than I do, and Al is about 5'8" and probably barely makes it to 9 stone. If that. Little beasts.
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