Help! He Thinks I Love Doggystyle, But Really It’s Just the Easiest Way to Hide My Stomach

by Yvie Jones | February 19, 2019 | Funny Ha Ha

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Last night, my fiancé’s hand got caught in the zipper of the denim fanny pack I wore to bed and I knew we couldn’t put off the talk any longer. Even worse, he’s ambidextrous and used his non-bleeding hand to flip me into position for some hot, McGruff the Crime Dog-style lovin’.

I’d hate for anything but the fanny pack or a strategically placed pillow to come between me and Danny. But I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend I love getting my pipes cleared from behind, when really it’s just the best way to hide my Buddha belly when we play naked Twister.

I blame myself. And the patriarchy, I guess? When his dreamy GrindHer profile said he liked his women “height and weight appropriate, please [tl;dr: no fatties!!]” I time traveled back to the moment before I read that. Then I Postmated every overpriced Lycra tummy smoosher in Queens to my co-working space before swiping right so hard my finger still hurts when it rains.

There was a close call during our first date. He touched my heart; I let him touch my boobs. (In for a penny….) His hand kept moving though, and when it stopped at my stomach on the trip downtown, we both froze in horror until I blurted out, “Food baby!”

A few months of dimmed lights, keeping my camisole on, Sex and the City-style, and convincing him that the fanny pack was a sexy homage to Danny’s Midwestern roots kept my neti pot belly hidden and brought me to my knees in the bedroom. Literally. Again and again, like I was praying at my k-pop altar, but with lube.

“I love that you love making the beast with four legs,” he whispered into my neck one night. Which…what?

Just when I thought I’d have to tell him the truth or, Lady Gaga forbid, lose weight, fate intervened. Fate bore a strong resemblance to cheap hair plugs. One night, I reached back and grabbed Danny’s hair in the throes of fake ecstasy and his boy band bangs came off in my hands. I’m not going to keep ruining my knees and sucking it in for a liar who doesn’t care enough about me to spring for a quality rug.

I eat carbs and wear crop tops and low-waist jeans now like the bad bitch I am. I also blocked all of Mr. Hair Club for Men’s texts. My heart is still open, but the back door is closed.

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