With a deep breath, Martha took a long, hard look at her reflection. She had known she'd been putting on a little weight in the last few weeks. Her pants were getting tighter--no, if she was honest, most of them she would be unable to even button if she tried them on now. Her favorite jacket would barely close, and felt uncomfortably snug around her arms. Yet, in her depressed state, she pretended not to notice, often consoling herself with the thought that the Doctor wouldn't notice.
But thinking you may be getting fat and taking an honest look at it happening are two different things, and Martha finally fessed up to herself. She must have put on about twenty pounds. Not a lot by cosmic standards, but enough that for the first time since her awkward preteen years she didn't like what she saw. Sher saw her flat stomach now sporting a round, soft pooch causing her shirt to ride up. She saw her jeans digging into her sides, forming an unsightly muffin top. Her perfectly formed breasts looked bloated, and her toned arms and legs were now soft, almost sausage-like she thought disapprovingly. Her face, she moaned upon noticing, was also softer, with puffy cheeks. In a few more pounds she knew she'd have a double chin, and her soft tummy would become a sagging potbelly.
She didn't have to turn to her side to know her magnificent ass was taking its share of the weight, and she didn't want to see proof. It was one more frustration to deal with. Going on dangerous adventures with a man/alien who could never love her was getting sad enough. Now she had to be fat, too.
She pinched more than an inch of flab at her waist. She tugged on her shirt to cover the bulge unsuccessfully. She fidgeted, trying to fig the encroaching wedgie behind her. She buttoned her jeans only to have them snap back open. Growing frustrated at the sight and feel of her larger self--as self-inflicted as it was--Martha finally--
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