The pounds that are still here really should be commended. I’ve done everything I can think of to make you leave. I’ve given you the runaround, used resistance against you, I’ve even starved you. Yet here you are. Stubborn, steadfast, and determined to go with me to bathing suit and short season.

I’ll give you credit, you’re stronger than the other pounds.

Five pounds got the hint to leave when I tried drown them with 64 ounces of water a day.

Another one or two left when I insisted on walking thousands of steps. I actually heard those pounds say, “Hello? Idiot? We have a car? Why are you walking five miles? We’re outta here.” 

Another pound left when I denied it its afternoon sugary treat.

But through all of it - a good ten to fifteen of you are still here. Why? I’ve made  it clear I want you to leave.  Some say I should accept you, embrace you, and even love you. But I don’t. 

Your attempts to hide on my back, or thighs, or other places I can’t see unless I have a three-way mirror, are laughable. 

I will not take  you into shorts and bathing suit season.

I will find you. And I will kill you.   (Say it out loud with your best Liam Neeson from Taken voice.)