Pants. They don't lie.

I'm not sure if I have the best or worst friends for not telling me that I got fat this summer. Thanks, guys, for letting my pants break the news. And fuck you, flowy sundresses and comfortable couch and bike that needs tuning and general lack of motivation.

(Yes, you have correctly identified me unjustifiably placing blame on everything and anything other than my own expanding ass.)

I refuse to buy new pants. I suppose that means I must stop refusing to run.