The Number One Health Risk is Obesity

I leant forward to add the finishing touches to my makeup, and my attention was caught; hook, line and sinker. Throwing the eyeliner at the wall, I squinted at my reflection.

Oh my good lord, I'm getting fat.
I don't weigh myself obsessively, working on the theory that as long as I can fit into my clothes without getting those lovely fat rolls over the tops of my jeans then things are ok, but... Things are no longer ok.
My beautiful new green dress, while it fits, is not cut out for concealing anything- and this isn't something I can blame on the lighting, either.
I seem to have a fat roll, which only becomes evident- in this dress, at least; I haven't dared try any others on- from the side view.
I spent about half an hour staring at myself from different angles, and it's definitely there.
What can I do? I've barred blueberry muffins, for a start- the fact that none of the muffins in the flat were mine is just a minor detail that I'm sure my flatmate collection will understand, for what could be more important than me having a flat belly and looking fabulous in the new dress?
No, I don't think they'll appreciate it either.
Other options include working out- nonono; really no, there's nothing I hate more but I might start using the stairs rather than the lift. Or I buy a corset- nonono; breathing is something really rather important to me. Or I could just stop eating- but Sophie Flatmate's making pancakes...
Argh.

The terrifying slide into obesity begins.