I'm not blaming you for my weight gain, sweetheart, but I know it's not my fault.
Who doesn't like loving and being loved? Outside of the lizard people who control the world and, ironically, the nutjobs who oppose them, most of us are really looking for a safe spot to lay our heads and a warm place to park our junk. But as one type of hunger is sated, another more literal kind takes its place. In short, loving you is making my pants uncomfortable. And not in a "bone zone" kind of way.
Studies, particularly one from the "New England Journal of Medicine", point to relationships as a source of thickening waistlines. The numbers, fairly equal between dudes and chicks, show that if one spouse becomes obese, the other is 37 percent more likely to do so, too. A weight-loss research outfit calling itself the Obesity Society claims that women are likely to gain 15 pounds in five years of a relationship. That mass ticks up a little when the woman gets married. Men experience, per the Society, similar gut gains.
While we were raised on the nightmare of a bedmate "letting themselves go" after the coupling begins in earnest, not many people (outside of the Honey Boo Boo family) are terribly interested in literally being fat and happy. So what gives with the all the asspansion?
Some "scientists" claim that nesting induces our estrogen production. That estrogen then tricks our bodies into storing fat. Seems logical, but I find that hard to believe. I'm pretty sure I'm manly enough that estrogen would take one look at my T-count and exit right through my urethra so that it could get a look at my penis, if only from the inside. I'm the real deal, folks. But, nonetheless, I pack on the pounds when my heart settles in one place for too long.
I've never had the kind of body that was wildly attractive to anyone save mediocre-alists and chubby chasers. However, I don't settle down with someone after saying those three magic words and whisper, "OK abs, you've done a yeoman's work, now take five until she figures out how weird I am." In fact, I'd prefer to stay in good shape as this person will be seeing me shirtless pretty regularly. But there are only so many hours in the day to do something that I find as repellent as exercise for the sake of exercise. I'll play sport, kick box or even shop until I drop, but hitting the gym is generally only done out of boredom.
When I'm hip-deep in some hot feelings action, I typically clock a goodly amount of hours with my sweet baby. Though time is a manmade construction, I'm still beholden to a 24-clock and therefore have to make some sacrifices. The aforementioned exercise is the first thing to go. I'm very guilty of couples skating and family and friends typically miss out on my presence when I'm a-courting. Forget trying to convert exercise to quality time, when I'm blasting my pecs I don't want some noodle-armed lady spotting me nor will I be able to maintain concentration with the possibility of looking up her shorts so close at hand.
Finally, so much of human interaction surrounds eating. Virtually every culture can (and has) said, "Food's very important to us because we're [insert race, ethnicity, religion, regional background or fetish at your leisure]." The most standard date is dinner with an optional movie. If I'm not enjoying it with someone, I'm liable to skip dinner or whip together a sandwich. That noise does not cut the mustard (sic) if you're using a meal as a vehicle for casual, getting-to-know-you convo.
Maybe I am mistaken, maybe I become literally hungry when my emotional (carnal) hunger is sated. However, I think the doubling of my chin when I'm in a relationship has more to do with logistics than becoming too comfortable. Maybe next time I'll sacrifice 40 minutes of bunk time to hit the gym to keep this physique tolerable for a lucky, lucky lady. I love you, now quit making me a fat.