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Weight Gain in Ramadan

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John Smith

Well-Known Member
Joined
Jan 31, 2015
Messages
507
Location
Laval, QC (Canada)
February-March 2012.

Bodies of campus commitees and social activism campus movements all around Quebec decided altogether to instigate an endless student strike face to the provincial government's unfair rising in high attending scholarship fees. Dozens and dozens of colleges and universities closed all across the territory.
I was 18 years old. Attending my first trimester in college and barely one month later, I was slacking at home: nearly as bored as now, with no job nor extracurricular activity, nor enough money neither to keep my mind and body distraught.
Living up within a disadvantaged neighborhood still pervasively crippled up by lingering bouts of inter-gang violences, racial profiling and hustling still simmering reminiscingly around every once and again and grew up in poverty, I had all the reasons in mind to stand wholeheartedly in favor of the in-coming riots. Nonetheless, being fixed at this stationary situation at home, instead studying and working my way through a diploma and a secured entrance through university, brought me so much ennui.

Someday, my mother ordered me to go shopping to the Muslim grocery store, at barely a five-minutes walk from home. I put on that old black jacket coat my now-deceaced older brother offered me one year earlier, a pair of ridiculous kids boots bought by my overprotective weather-phobic mother I was carrying around since perhaps my thirteen summers, then walked my way out from Mother's to the store. The climate outdoors dramatically heated up as much as the political atmosphere back then: snow melted very early in late wintertime. Before the equinoxe even started, Montreal was struck by a 86° Fahrenheit (30° Celsius) premature heat spike!

The owner recently had a lot of his personal departing that year, replacing them with a tandem of fresh starters. Having begun to grow for a while into the on-and-off absolutely incurable ladies's men I will soon become, I fortright attempted to test the waters by progressively approaching two newly cashiers, albeit now I recollect about these events... in a cringe-inducing manner that cried out loud my very extremely weak flirt game and lack of experience at that time.

The first cashier was a young, very attractive hijabi-cladded woman of Lybian descent, nowhere too far from my age and of a small-medium built and as tall as me, who used to push a good 5'10" tall at that time. Her delicate yet somewhat robust North African features, gently pulpy cheeks, glamorous dark eyebrows, shy-yet-naughty green-hazel-eyed stare, light brownish-olive complexion and naturally modelesque appeal had for match but her fashionable dressing: juggling between slim-fitting flared Midi dresses of a floral, beige or creamy textured colour from the likes of those popular amongst young French Moslems or Millenial local Moslems hailing from a upper-working-class background, traditional abayahs or a combo of black long-sleeved polo shirts and high-waisted jeans; all flaunting her slender, willowy stature, towering legs, fairly round hips and full C-cupped breasts. In spite my yet-poorer fashion acumen at that time, she seemed for a while to be geniunely fetched by my wits and personality: she was attending for a bacchalaureate and aimed toward a brain job I couldn't remember what exactly about. But after a couple of weeks, she rapidly grew jaded about me and ignored my advances, to my little dissappointment.

The second woman, into her late twenties or early thirties, was a Near Easterner of an average height although very bosomed built. She wore a dressing more conservative and less eye-fetching than her coworker, alterning between long modest tunic dresses or black-cladding loose dresses which, most unfortunately to her, were unable to totally conceal her rather slimm-ish yet heavy-bosomed Petite silhouette... think about a "normal"-weight, gown-cladded BigCutie Marilyn but with a brunet-white complexion and slight strands of natural ashy brown hair rolled between the front hem of her headress and temples, a grievous and mean-looking although comely visage and enough charm to draw a few suitors into the store. The first time she has seen me, she stared hard at my dressing, boots and visage without really seeing my features or eyes - only a coloured person might been familiar with that stare to know what I'm talking about - and nonverbally yet agressively dismissed my presence around at the first second: since then, she refused to serve me anytime I was shopping around and when she had no buffer cashier nor leisure time to justify it without overtly passing for a downright racist, she begrudgingly checked my purchases, tooth grinding, caught my dollar bills and pieces as rags belonging to a leper before brutally throwing out my due money on the damned treadmill and away of my hand and grumbling faintly in her native tongue so that none of her coworkers or passing clients could really caught the nature of her bigoted actions toward me. Once, a regular male client even approached me after leaving together the store and tell me she was treating me of kh*lush (figure out by yourself its meaning) and abd "slave" whenever she saw me around, but ended up being the one who was shocked when I revealed to him dubbling quite enough in spoken Arabic Levantine to nail almost every single of her brieve verbal tirades but nonetheless don't give a crap: that store was widely known within black folks living long enough in the neighborhood to remain as good as deaf when it comes about customers filing out those types of complaints... anyway, her misbehiavor was starting to affect my casual mood and I ended up finding any excuse to ignore my mother's shopping recommandations when it came about that store.

Seasons passed and coming at the time leaves on the trees fell in rains of light-green-and-yellowish-amber, colleges and universities just achieved their longrunning winter trimesters. A greying afternoon, I was walking along an avenue in direction to home, mind wandering and brooding when I sensed a familiar, annoying presence coming from the opposite direction of the sidewalk.

Instinctfully, I rose an eye and failed to drop my jaw, appalled: a heavily pregnant woman of very stocky built was waddling along the way, huffing faintly as she was markedly impeded by her extra carriages expanding frontward and much everywhere, her heavy milk-filled juggs wobbling obscenously to-and-fro against the tight fabric of a black dress no longer loose enough to prevent from smuggling against her overfed arms, taunt abdominal protuberance, portly thighs and forming rolls... just think about what BigCutie Marilyn used to look at 265lbs, but with a far puffier face and a 2X-sized gown a few pounds shy from being totally outgrown.

The corpulent going-to-be-soon mother froze for a second, threw a defiant stare toward me then, noting my mindblown stupor, blushed half-vexed half-ashamed then, with a quickier shambling gait, managed to sidestep far away from my incoming passage, failing to mindlessly bump into some pet's gifts (or were these those of a human? The ammoniac-filled spoor nearby reminded me too much about those found nearly everywhere downtown or nowhere close from the Plaza Saint-Hubert, where the homeless, outcasts and junkies gathered) .

Gaining nearly 100 pounds because of the intricacies of being a newlywed pregnant woman who no longer had to worry about her waistline is one thing.
But gaining all of that weight just after a period of religiously-prescribed fasting tradition, just between the last time I've seen her from the corner of the eye at the earliest days of Ramadan last summer ago and had for anything new but a freshly-found husband, a ring and a rather small belly bump but still the same bodyweight, rose suspicions.

Although, the simple fact she used to be pregnant dismissed her from following the fasting, all naturally.


I had no idea my erroneous thought about believers overfeeding themselves overnight while a fasting period was so close from an accurate social reality...

(To be continued...)
 
Last edited:

John Smith

Well-Known Member
Joined
Jan 31, 2015
Messages
507
Location
Laval, QC (Canada)
June to August 2013.

Heavily depressed, I'd spent much of leisure time between wandering outside, hiking and chilling (sometimes with either a pal of mine or my then-feedee/"female friend"/familiar/that-one-out-of-many-girls-no-one-could-properly-define-your-goddamn-ambiguous-relationship-status-because-Millenials-being-Millenials) , ratting alone from library to library, nay keeping my mind busy by observing the intricacies of a student theatrer play in making or sketching anything.

That year has not been a good year to me. I was viciously flayed from the inside-out, naked and wrecked. In spite the sweltering promise of the dog-days knocking on our doors, my body downside my neck was crippled by a very surreal crispness, haunting me wherever I was going: forcing me to sheat myself most oftentimes into a thick brown-and-tan denim-textured, seasonal hooded Unisex blazer I recently got while a dressing bazaar at the youth center from a monitor and female acquaintance of mine. Even when the mercury was spiking up at 109 - 113° Fahrenheit (40 - 45° Celsius) , it was pretty much impossible to let me go of that overcoat that was drawing too much attention - especially from the pigs, who did already found me highly suspicious-looking whether I was dressed nice or not - perhaps well-deserved. My ailment was skindeep... recollecting glimpses of memory about that somber period from my nineteen years, I wonder how did I even outlived summertime with this burdening cloak frying my head out, being way too sensitive to extended exposure at hot humid climates and rapid dehydration since my tender childhood!

Coming in July, the Muslim community within my borough - composed mostly of Arabs, Syrians, North Africans then a smaller minority of East Africans and Burundians - growing with greater population count and influential prestige since a couple of years and rapidly overriding my home neighborhood of its formerly predominant black Christian population, were all commonly entering into a period of the year where believers and laxists devotedly choose to observe the mystical prescriptions made by a millenia-old tradition.

Ramadan was, in any subjective observation from a non-believer, the highest-appealed period of holidays ever liked by the oumma , having for sole equal but the Hajj itself-- which consisted about leading a personal or group-led pilgrinage from each hometown to the holy city of The Mecca in Saudi Arabia, sometimes but strongly recommanded by passing first tnrough the Egyptian capital city of Cairo.
Even the birthday of their long passed-away-yet-highest-beloved prophet and other holidays of their own seemed lesser in comparison-- and for cause: it was that one period of the year parents letted their children play outside till very late when lucky enough to have their holiday fell at any vacation time, teenagers and young adults alln spoiled with some money chilling outside overnight and loads of the most exquisite food tracks from their respective cultures heaving over the tables from nightfall till the early morning hours. On the bottom line, fasting traditions in the Near East, much of the African continent and other Asian countries were so antiquated than no one could truthfully pinpoint yet the where, when and why it did even started: fasting as a religious practise being even far older than the Hejire or the "Year of the Elephant" , a forsaken legacy of the so-called polytheistic beliefs of old passed down from the filter of Judaism and Christianity. My dear mother, raised by a mixed mostly-Catholic-and-Pentecotist-faithed upbringing, taught me that fasting was already practised by our African ancestors long before the first military Arab conquests, fourteen centuries ago-- most likely an another of those practises inherited from the ancient Nile kingdoms or the Horn of Africa again - unless that was all about the Azanians of the East African shoreline this time...? - whose godforsaken tetrahedronal depths of meaning get lost since time immemorial...

... yet, unlikely my mother's own insight over 40-days long fasting that one could interpret as far much monastical or radical in nature, Moslems deprived themselves of any food and water at daytime but overstuffed themselves overnight so that craving might affect them less the next day later. With such infantilized accostuming to feeding, quadrupled by the culinary temptations left by any 24/7-open fast food channels around and their shifting biochemical influx processing between metabolic slowndown at early adulthood and their stomachs switching on in "starving" mode...
no wonder why such preppy activities did and still does causes to a lot of young males and females to end up at best with a small potbelly or overall podgy bearing, for the less lucky ones with envisioning to trade off their Forever-21-or-Zara-or-Guess-based shopping habits for the likes of Addition-Elle and the XL-or-Plus section of Moore... and for the special breed who were the type to gain several dozens of pounds every single 40-days long holiday like it did happened over-and-over again to the racist cashier mentioned earlier in my first post, a lot of our size-conscious readers here knows than U.S. online stores and Amazon became their best friends.
 

John Smith

Well-Known Member
Joined
Jan 31, 2015
Messages
507
Location
Laval, QC (Canada)
Complaining and disparaging more frequently on phone to any of my relatives about me and how I was "lacking any due filial respect" to most consitenstly refuse to go shopping into that rubbish grocery store amongst else, I begrudgingly knuckled under the toxic familial pressures and far-from-innocuous threats of eviction (for refusing to go shopping at a toxic place, having a no-bulls*t-minded demeanor toward anyone who wronged me or dare spitting on my feet figuratively AND literally, then having some semblance of decent social life of my own as a single young adult at 20 years old. Really??!!) and stormed off right to the food mart, frustrated.

Rapidly and without any further ado, I've caught everything that was recommanded on Mother's shopping list into my cart then after two or three minutes, I was already heading right to the waiting line. Unfortunately to both her and I, I had to be served by the then-married Arab cashier, already grumbling and cursing faintly on my way in by habit... but I assume till this day that something into my grievous, exceedingly indignant both bearing and stare spurred into her heart that something of ominous was coming to her this time because her usually-hostile aura and arrogant misbehiavor as well as her squirming smirk all faded away in a blink of the eye, letting place to the exact same petrified stupor immediatly followed by angst and bigot-mindedly primal urge to run away that at least three out of ten white folks had while I was casually walking on the same sidewalk than them-- or eight out of ten when I was looking ready to rip some poor fella's head out.

And so she did, requesting urgently to an incoming coworker (the Lybian lady) to replace her for now. She promptly gave her the key to the serving cash desk, then waddled away in direction of what I presumed being the backstore rooms: that petty victory of the day did albeit meant nothing to me, as the true focus of my anger was anything but her this time and I'd fastly forgot the course of these events ever occured until recently.

The Lybian cashier casually greeted and served me, unenthusiastic and lofty as usual yet fairly apprehensive by my mood at the moment. I managed in the meantime to withdraw my brooding, ego-bruised bearing but with little success. Even if we were mutually annoyed at each other's presence and that I wholeheartedly despised this place, I did not want to taint further what remains of my social credit around by having a well-appreciated cashier being indirectly aimed by my simmering temper for something she never did. She perhaps wronged me in her own many ways, but these were way different kind of wrongdoing: the likes of those that does most everyone, when you've no longer set in mind to play with somebody's feelings or flirting steps... not publically and repeatedly treating someone like some subhuman trash because you did find utterly insulting than a N****o could ever laid an eye on you. Still humiliating like form of rejection, but not a big story in comparison to the latter one.

While scanning every of the items bought on the treadmill, I left for a brieve moment that repressed side of me who was still lusting and woo-ing after the once-so-receptive-and-kind woman I used to court by stealthily eye-cornering her down the nose to the visible area of her legs, feigning to be distraught by the roaring urban rumor from the other side of the windows. She updated her wardrobe inventory since our first encountering, feeling self-comfortable enough to switch her semi-conservative chic attire, traditionnal robes and two-piece dark-and-denim outfits for standard Western attires of more vivid colours, being then working around in oversized thigh-lenght buttoned denim shirts, navy blue or creamy-coloured cleavage tops with trimmed hemline or stretchable thigh-length tunic tops of a vivid pink or navy blue print spousing delicatly her body shape and curves (without being too obvious) ; in tne case of that day, the latter pink one combined with an ivory hijab and a pair of slimming jeans. I had to admit she seriously had a talent to flaunt her assets without outright appearing as sl*tty from the views of her peers-in-faith and most specifically countryfellows.
During the two or three half-seconds of discreet ogling, I however realized she had packed a rather fair amount of weight since the last Fall, which is pretty comprehensive when a major part of her weekly time outside the uni was thoroughly scheduled between a full-time job there and homeworking. A brunt of those additional pounds has all settled into the widest body areas of her then-lithely curveous appearance: doing anything but enlarging a little her hips, plumpening in width and breadth her callypigous rear, strenghtening her once-sticky thighs and calves and giving a little more girth to her thin waistline. The only details that may had betrayed her weight gain from the outlook of any male neophyte were her gently less defined facial traits, somewhat pulpier cheeks, one-cup fuller breasts and overall fairly less smaller stature.
She was definitively heavy enough to step not so too far from the threshold of curvaceous territory... likely the mid-to-high 100s pounds, I am now guessteeming.

Once the quick scanning done, we proceeded to the payment, packed the items into plastic bags then, hastily pressed, lifted the rather moderably heavy package and go back to home.
 

John Smith

Well-Known Member
Joined
Jan 31, 2015
Messages
507
Location
Laval, QC (Canada)
Ramadan's finally gone, I had been blackmailed into going to the food mart again.

A few instants later, I was into the waiting line. Once again, the obese one has found herself to get me as a client, but this time she didn't ran way nor grunted. Without flinching, she quickly scanned my products and helped me packing my purchases, a grievous look shadowing her face. Either out past encounter from less a dozen of weeks ago froze the b***h out of her high horses once for good or she get severely reprimanded by her boss for her unprofessionalism: given the reputation of that store as abovementioned in an earlier post, you can easily guess my first option tilt toward the former option. After all, my home borough had a reputation too .
I had once again found myself into a situation I had to test my early theory about people gaining weight during fasting by noting than the cashier's heavy bosom was any longer her biggest asset as her baby bump evolved into a bonafide buddha gut pushing further than her immensely sagging boobs. Her once-moderable waddling gait turned into a wedgie, being so enlarged she was only a dozen inches from being as wide as tall. The poor newlywed spouse had no idea about what was coming for her for the next three years...

Once the payment done, I seized my stuff and walked my way out. The Lybian lady in blue tunic top, who was then an half-inch smaller than me since my recent growth spurt, stared languishly at me as I was passing nearby and, to my big surprize, waved a hand at me, a faint smile and an unsound "hi" clinging onto her lips. I paused, waved back at her while titling my head, probably smirked a bit, discreetly scanned her newfound portlier, bustier, fuller-armed silhouette and smallish doughy belly then moved forward.

Then my bags ripped apart under the pressuring heft of my purchases, make everyone wincing because of the pother it generated while falling against the marble-covered floor, had to gather urgently my package over her cash desk, get helped and while my quick comings-and-goings, paused an half-second again in full appalled stupor about six foot from her seven o'clock - an ogling she did noticed this time, blushing - then a couple of seconds later, I was crossing the street with my double-bagged packages, slouched my seat onto the calve-lenght granite panel enclosing the front parking of the former-corner-store-turned-in-cafe from the sidewalk and the crossing avenue, removed my blazer in discomfort - a rare occassion during that one summer - and mentally flatlined .

A mature-aged brown man [was it the cafe owner, a regular client from the food mart or a client from the cafe?? I don't exactly remember] joined me, stood up, fixed from a distance through the windows and mechanic doors of the place I'd just leave and, the coy and slightly perverse smile of an experienced womanizer drawing on his saturnine face, then jovially quipped:

- "Wallah , you too...??

I swiftly get myself together, turned my head back to my three o'clock, paused languishly for a few seconds, turned my focus in direction of my newfound interlocutor then tried as politely as possible in regard to his age (and who knows if I was talking to his father or relative? He would've kill me, figuratively of course 😅) :

- I-I-I do not kn-- WHA--WHAT IN THE NAME OF HEEEEA-VEN??!!! I stuttered.

- I swear!! he bursted out, laughing. I am around since a while son... and whenever I was crossing the avenue or shopping in, they've keep getting bigger."

"They" like the middle-aged lurker said, was a delicate manner to speak about the Lybian lady's abundantly-swelling rear cheeks. In the lapse of barely three months, the cashier's derriere went from a modest bubble butt to fuller to a bonafide chunky badonkadonk protuding two inches backyard, forcing her walking motion to turn into a ponderous sway at each move. Her thunder thighs were noticeably rubbing against each other, stretching the fabric of her XL-sized jeans... you could even see a set of forming back rolls from our outlook.

The elder and I turned at each other, paused then bursted out in laughs and tears and after a long minute, I continued my way back to home, the blazer girdling my high hips.


My theory was true.

(To be continued...)
 
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