Muffin Top

One thing I've always respected about my wife is her honesty. (side note: should I start referring to Vicki as V? It seems to be the cool thing to do, and if I'm anything, it's cool)
V always has amazing tact and the ability to be honest while still giving full respect to the feelings of others. One exception there, me.
I guess it's one of the perks, one of the many perks, of being married to me, that she has someone that she can be honest with without having to worry about tact and feelings and all that sissy stuff. So, this is what I got last night when I removed my shirt before getting into bed:

"Oh my goodness, have you seen yourself? Seriously, look in the mirror, look at how you look with that belt!"

I crouch down to get a view of what's she's talking about (yes, crouch down, because our bedroom mirror is still leaning against the wall because I have yet to take the 10 mins to hang it, and then find out that I've hung it way too high. Don't ask). And to her credit it's pretty darn obvious what she's talking about.
My usual breathtaking physique has a new addition. The Muffin Top. Gracefully spilling over the sides of my jeans, my waist is showing the effects of my heart-healthy diet.
V continues to comment as I get into bed and try to sleep as fast as I can:

"Seriously, you need to do something about that, I worry about you. That is not healthy."

Again, she's right, but where's the tact and gentle delivery for me?

Ah, who am I kidding? With my nutritional history, she is being gentle.