“One day, you won’t be able to do that. You’ll hit 30 and you’ll put weight on. You’re only able to eat that because you’re young. You’ll get fat. Just you wait.”
I lowered the half eaten cream cake from my mouth back down to the plate and stared at him.
I was in my late teens, a size 8 and went to the gym. He stood in front of me, about 25 years older, overweight with a huge round belly, also eating a cream cake. He’d just had his 3rd heart attack and drove the half a mile to work and back every day.
I mumbled something about dealing with that if or when it happened, shoved the rest of the cake in my mouth and trundled off. It wasn’t the first, or last, comment about my weight from him and I soon learnt to ignore it.