Skin hung over the band of my underwear and, on top of that, I was hairy. The longer I stared at myself, the more I began to notice what it was that made Julio cringe. And yes, I was probably in pretty good shape. Sure, I was a professional dancer, and I did yoga, and went running, and watched what I ate. Their arms are huge, their chests are cut, their abs are visibly defined. Julio (gay) and my boyfriend both possess the envious V-shape: broad shoulders narrowing down to a waist that hasn't smelled a carb in years. He seemed to direct his entire conversation-and disgust-oat my exposed midsection.
I don't remember what he said, but I remember where he looked. I went to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, and ran into his roommate, Julio. I did, however, suspect something was wrong with my body the first night I stayed over his house. Actually, I didn't even know that was a thing until he told me so. I didn't know I was skinny-fat until my Russian boyfriend told me so.
