I rarely experience horror. But today, I experienced horror explicitly. The moment I entered office, an unknown colleague remarked,”Jaz, nice. Tight pants huh?” I looked at the frontal bulge and smiled sheepishly. Darn. It definitely was not a case of mistaken identity. It did feel tight. I did feel a lack of room, “down there”. That irresponsible remark by my colleague left a bitter taste of self consciousness. It felt like a long fall from grace.
A good two years ago, I swore I cried, when I noted that my weight stagnanted at 60kg. And it has been like that for the past gazillion years. Metric average even indicated that I was grossly underweight for my height. I was earmarked to be in the 70kg range. I’m now standing at 65kg. Still it is not a cause for joy. You know why?
Cause unknowingly, my physique started to have a mind of its own. It began developing a penchant for junk food. Burgers to be exact. Getting married and getting a son also help “carved” out a body proportion, that equated sideways growth with emotional happiness. Which by the way, I am not denying. I am happy.
I will not say I am growing fat. I am just saying that I am at a waist size that I am not comfortable with, and am willing to work hard at beating it. After work, I rushed to my regular retail store and tried out new pants. I first asked for a size 31. For all the while, I’m accustomed to a size 29 or 30. It shocked me when size 31 barely fitted me. Thought to myself that there must be a mistake with the tailoring. So I ask, for a one size up. As I pulled the pants up my legs, I still felt the tightness around the thighs and I silently groaned. It cannot be, I said. When I turned to a side profile and looked in the mirror, it was another ghastly reflection of an oversized me with a mini pants look. I then peered out of the dressing room, and silently called out to the salesgirl. “Size 33 got?”. The sweet little thing stole a flirting glance at me and smiled. That smile pierced my inner soul beyond redemption. I knew what she was saying in her mind. She was having a field day exclaiming,” This dude’s fat.” As she passed me the pants, I felt a thousand boulders falling on my shoulders. The catalysmic horror dawned on me when I finally realized that size 33 fits like a glove on my waist.
So ladies and gentlemen. I, Mohd Hijazi solemnly declares that I wear size 33. It’s not my bra size, eventhough I wish it was. It’s my waist’s circumference.
There are things in life that make me horrified. I just overlooked waist size being one of them.