That moment when you’re in the supermarket queue with your deliciously satisfying non-alcoholic beer, ‘Friday night is treat night’, large ham and mozzarella pizza (for one) and all the extra trimmings: salami, olives, cheese, mushrooms, etc. etc. because there’s just not quite enough lard on there and that MoFo ain’t gonna pimp itself, no siree; when you look at the basket of the person next to you and see three sad-looking tomatoes and a pitiful fruit salad, glance sideways at the enviably slim thighs clad in skinny jeans, nod admiringly to yourself and then look up to see that they are indeed…….. attached to a bloke.
When a gentleman has more will-power than you to sniff lettuce to stay slim, it’s time to haul your sorry THREE extra kilos ar*e to the gym for more than twenty minutes on the elliptical!!
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