I’ve noticed that I’m getting older. I can see it in my face. I can feel it in my eyes. And I’ve discovered that I can’t quite pack away food like I used to. 

As a teenager I earned myself the nickname “Termite” because of my insatiable appetite. In my twenties, my metabolism let me get away with eating in much the same way.

But now that I’m coming up to 33, too much dessert after a family Sunday lunch and my belly starts back-chatting with some fierce licks of heart burn.

While growth and youthful energy could explain away my eating patterns before, my drive to go back for more and more pudding and custard these days begs the question: Is this really about appetite anymore? Or am I perhaps filling some kind of void with sweet gooey treats?

It’s 2021. OF COURSE I AM!

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