I was at work last night and was confronted by a colleague counting the calories of his KFC meal that he had eaten. If you're that serious about counting your calories you don't eat KFC. That's about as clever as putting low fat milk into your double-choc-caramel-swirl-heart-attack-smoothie.
I also got asked by the Finance lady "what is your secret to being so thin? You're so lucky, you have a gift!" Sorry Benita (not her real name) it's more of a curse than a gift. See, I'm a man. I'm supposed to look like a have a small pig of ham inside each of my biceps and an 1890's washboard in my abs. I think this is an accurate representation of how I would look if that was the case.
Thinking about this later it became apparent that there was either one of two things wrong with me. The first, which I dismissed almost instantly, was that I had a tapeworm somewhere in my "food tubes".
The second, more likely explanation, was that I had little leprechauns living in my stomach, stealing my calories using a highly complex series of tubes and harvesting them to make gall stones for when I turn 40.