My Metabolism’s in Witness Protection

(…and I’d like a forwarding address)

I swear, one day my metabolism was right there beside me—burning through diner fries at midnight, forgiving back-to-back iced coffees, and bouncing back from a “bad” weekend with barely a bloat. Then midlife hit, and poof—gone. Vanished. No goodbye note. No warning.

I imagine it now: in oversized sunglasses and a hoodie, sipping green juice under an alia…