Wristwatch

I have freakishly fat wrists.

Actually, I don't think it's technically the wrists, but rather the ends of my forearms. But regardless, they're bizarre. When I went to visit Chris this past summer, he was intrigued by them. It was like he couldn't help himself, and I'd catch him out of the corner of my eye reaching over to touch them. He continually and compulsively poked, prodded, and pinched my wrist fat, and when I protested he answered, "but...they're just so puffy and...I mean, well...do they hurt?"

They don't hurt, but they are kind of painful to look at. I mean, they're very puffy and swollen-looking. My whole life has been a battle with my weight, and I always have little markers to indicate that I'm gaining. The button on the jeans starts to strain, or my thighs start to look like overstuffed sausages in the casings of my pant legs, or my bra starts digging into my back. Then there's the whole tight underwear problem (and ain't nothin' right when your underwear is tight). But then years ago I figured out that I could tell I was really crossing a line on the scale when my wrists would get fat.

The first time I noticed it I'd thought it was a side effect of medication, or simple water retention, but then I noticed it wasn't going away. A friend of mine remarked shortly before I moved back to Buffalo that I looked "swollen," to which she added, "oh my god, look at your wrists!" She meant it in the nicest way, of course, concerned that perhaps there was something wrong with me. She, too, thought it was a fluid retention issue. But seven years later, they're still fat. Only fatter. I have wrist rolls. Who the fuck gets rolls of fat on their forearms? Seriously? What a freak!

Forget pounds. I'm gonna keep track of my wrist measurements instead.