From behind, only her long red hair would have given Amy away. Otherwise, her now wide hips and chunky lovehandles stretching her jeans and sweater to near ripping point made her complete unrecognizable from the front. The Doctor peered in on Amy, somewhat dreading the confrontation he was about to have. It wasn't so much that telling her she should lose weight would be awkward. The Doctor was fully aware this was frowned upon in many cultures. Mostly, it was that this weight gain was obviously just a symptom of her greater depression, and that he could do nothing about.
She was standing in front of an antique food dispenser in one of the TARDIS' many storage rooms. It had been from some alien encounter or other and the Doctor had accepted it as a gift, although never used it. Now Amy appeared so desperate for consolation she was searching the whole ship to new things to eat. The Doctor would have to hide this device later.
"Ah, Amy, how goes things on this fine day?" the Doctor said as unnaturally as he could.
Amy turned to him, her eyes already rolling, her puffier cheeks stuffed with an alien snack from the machine. It looked like a thick granola bar.
"What is it, Doctor?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing, just wondering how everything was?" he leaned as nonchalantly as he could on the machine, trying to not stare at how Amy's formerly figure-hiding sweater was now stretched around her swollen middle. "So, nice machine here, eh? Got this from the Vorgolon lobster people-"
"Doctor," Amy said, taking another bite, "Just tell me what you want to tell me."
"Very well," he toughened his voice a little, but tried not to sound too serious, "Pond, you've been putting on a lot of weight lately and, while I do understand it's from feeling depressed, I also understand it's not a healthy thing and you will probably regret if you continue to get all . . . " he motioned his hands in a vague circle, trying to come up with a word, ". . . blobby."
Amy's expression barely changed on her almost-but-not-quite-yet chubby face.