It doesn’t matter if I lay down on the bed. It doesn’t matter if I jump up and down. It doesn’t even matter if I do a set of squats. I cannot, for the life of me, get into my old favorite pair of jeans.

When I do finally yank them on and suck in my gut to fasten the top button, my love handles unflatteringly roll over the sides and I resemble a mushroom with arms. I quickly have to release the pressure from my stomach just so I can breathe again. Unzipped and bummed out, I plop myself down on the couch defeated and lazily reach for my second Reese’s peanut butter cup on the coffee table.

It’s not like I can ask myself, “How did this happen?” I’ve always had to fight my temptations tooth and nail, which is a tough thing to do when my favorite way to spend an evening is to pick up some greasy fast food, return to the comforts of my home, and watch a Cops marathon on Court TV. Lately, I have been giving into many of my white-trash habits with very little willpower to stop. Even as I write this, I’m chewing on a piece of a Hershey’s bar. So what gives?

I do remember when I was at my thinnest — it was when I was still fairly new to town and had begun dating the first love of my life. I was so wrapped up in us together and our regular schedule of sex, I just found myself with a major lack of interest in eating. I dropped about three sizes, and didn’t even have my period for three months because my body was so devoid of fat. My now-not-fitting favorite pair of jeans were actually two sizes too big. It wasn’t that I was consciously choosing to not eat like an anorexic, I just didn’t need to because I was so in LOOO-oove.

So maybe the old saying is true, that food is a substitute for feelings, because as soon as I came to my senses about this guy and the fake front he put up, the weight came back with a vengeance. Right now, the only person I really want to be with is on the other side of the continent and completely unavailable. So needless to say, I find myself making a lot more late-night Wendy’s runs and perusing the ice cream section at the Teeter more often than usual.

Forget dieting. I’ve never been able to stick to one. As for exercising, I usually bulk up more than tone up. No, what I need is to fall in love again, with someone readily available and in possession of an incredible sex drive. Come on, boys, it’s time to do your part and give back. Please don’t let me donate my old favorite pair of jeans to Goodwill. With your help, I’ll be able to put down the Krispy Kreme donut and slide back into my beloved denims with ease and grace.