Dear stomach,

I am sorry for what I have made you. You were so perfect, not quite flat, with a cute little bump. I could lay a piece of paper across my hipbones and it would just skim you.

From now on, things will have to change. I have just bid on several beautiful dresses on eBay. They were made in the 1950s and so have twenty-six-inch waists.

You do not measure twenty-six inches. This is through no fault of your own, and I love you even when you bulge over my jeans. From now on I am going to do sit-ups. I know they are dull and maybe even painful for you, but they are sadly necessary. I will try to eat more lettuce and less cake. I hope you like lettuce.

For the good of the dresses,

The rest of me.