There was once a time in my early 20s when I could easily slip into a pair of slim 30-waisted pants. By my mid-20s, I had graduated to a 32 waist. Early last year, I began to expand a bit – not too much – and I was forced to ditch the 32 for a 33 – with a belt, however. All well and good, considering that for most of my adult life, I was actually too skinny. A little meat on the bone wasn’t going to hurt, and I didn’t want to spend the remainder of my 20s with the physique of a gangly high school student. I was fine with a 33. No, I welcomed it.
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