Well, of course. Scientists have discovered that certain people can eat anything and everything and not gain an ounce.
Well, duh. I could have told them that years ago.
In the early 70s I was blessed with three roommates of that sort. It was rather trying listening to them compare notes on the fattening foods they were eating in a vain attempt to pack on the pounds; sort of like eavesdropping on a club I couldn’t join, though I’d have dearly loved to.
Bags of potato chips and candy bars were seeded throughout the house, the better for them to bulk up, but to no avail. They remained very thin—skinny, even. While I? Well, let’s just say I remained “not so very thin”— except when, by force of enormous willpower during my dancing years, I kept my consumption down to one thousand calories a day while exercising like a stevedore.
I can’t really complain, though, because even though I haven’t been blessed with the skinny gene I at least seem to have been blessed with the “more or less average” gene.
At least so far. These things can change, you know. My very own mother was not just skinny but emaciated until she was a young woman. Then she became merely slender, and in midlife she finally reached average, where she has remained. And I have friends who started out skinny and ended up heavy, with no seeming change in eating habits and not even much of a difference in exercise habits. Plus, we’d all do relatively well in a famine.
And those three skinny roommates? Well, I’m still acquainted with them, and guess what? Those genes are holding; they’re still pretty skinny. And think of the fun they’ve had along the way.