I Dream of Skinny Jeans


Summertime sadness was like a mantra for these sizzling days and humid nights. To escape from the sweltering heat of my basement apartment, I blast an air conditioner and a fan. Next. I down copious glasses of sparkling white wine or rose to cope. That usually helps a bit.

Sometimes it’s just too hot to cuddle, much less fuck. I’m not sweating out my press for a commercial break worth a pleasure, I rather have a dark chocolate bar with almonds. As a new Vegan that’s my go-to for a dessert rich in antioxidants.  

I’m detoxing daily, shimmying in a pair of size 31 Diesel jeans. Just a season ago when the weather was better but my ass was fatter — I stuffed myself in size 36 pair of Levi’s. My thighs rubbed together like Popeyes. And combined with this heat my sissy ass would start a fire. I longed to fit in a size 32, clinging desperately in designer jeans in a sample size.

It’s amazing how I always used that as a barometer for my weight gains and losses. That was the real stock market. I was so big I couldn’t fit my plump hands in my pockets. Well, that was 30 pounds and a health scare ago. 

It looks like 30 plus years of poor dieting, eating my way to the American dream had me binging on meat, dairy and pasta finally caught up with me. Fast food and drive-thrus provided quick relief for a bitch that didn’t feel like cooking. 

My relationship with food has changed dramatically since I abstain from animal products and carbs. The calories melted like coconut oil. I lost all that weight in 8 weeks. I need to get my ass back in the gym if I plan to be topless at a pool near you. We have one three blocks away and I still haven’t been yet. I guess I had the lofty goal of wanting washboard abs by summer. Well, it’s an indoor pool. I could probably have those abs by winter. Winter is coming.

I wouldn’t know what to do if I had abs. I guess the last time I had them, I was a baby. And walking around topless was cute then but certainly not now. Poverty was an excellent weight loss trick. But being malnourished doesn’t move me. If that were the case I would have turned to crack a long time ago. I can’t with crack, or the black skin crackling, and what’s with all the scratching? And the missing teeth from wrapping one’s lips around those pipes. No, ma’am. 

I fucking hate summer. So much pressure to relax and keep cool under record high heat waves. When I used to live with my mother, she used to conserve the air conditioning by cutting it off completely. She would only turn it on sporadically. Fuck that. I had to move. 

I’m not with DC’s humidity. Drain the swamp honey, I ain’t talking about Congress. I keep my shit on all the time. I don’t like to sweat, I got etiquette.

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Love, Walter

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By Love, Walter

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