The shirt won’t button. It’s the tight shirt, your smallest one, the first one you noticed getting tight when the weight started creeping on. And now it won’t button at all. I splay my hand over the curve of your softening belly. “I need you to suck this in,” I tell you, pressing gently. Obediently, you do. I manage to do up one button and struggle with the next. I used to be able to help you do up the buttons, but I can’t manage it now. There’s still a significant expanse of belly flesh that can’t be bridged by the fabric. Unable to hold your breath any longer, you let it all out with a whoosh, your belly surging through the gaping shirt. “Guess I got a little fat,” you say sheepishly.

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