Despite months of slobbery and gluttony here, I’ve managed to stave off inflating into the gargantuan beast that I often see myself as in my dreams (or nightmares). Nevertheless, there was always this nagging feeling at the back of my head that even though my fat accumulation was visibly inconspicuous, I probably had amassed enough human blubber in the past few months, which, if converted to oil and put on NYMEX, would probably send oil prices plummeting to US$1 per barrel. This discomforting thought was further exacerbated by the fact that back in JC, the fat composition in my body was measured to be 20% even when I was relatively more active then.

Regardless of this ill-feeling, I’ve not taken any active and sustained measures to curb my metamorphosis into a human petrol station. So, when Edwin, my supervisor – and also my comrade-in-gluttony – brought a fat analyzer to the office, I was hoping that it’d vindicate all the ominous feelings I’ve had about my impending obesity, and spur me to stop the “blubberisation”.

I was disappointed.

It turned out that the fat composition in my body is a healthy 16.4%. That’s nothing much to crow about at first glance, but bearing in mind the sinful gastronomic indulgences I’ve had in the past months – it’s a biological miracle. Of course, I’m a little skeptical about the reliability of the fat analyzer, but it measured Edwin’s fat composition to be 20+%, so I didn’t want to make him feel any worse by voicing my doubts to him.

Damn! I should’ve been a girl. (Note: This is in no way alludes to any transsexual propensity.)

(Disclaimer: This entry is by no means meant to be condescending towards horizontally unchallenged people. I’m not a “lardist” and I apologise if it appears otherwise.)