Sunday, August 10, 2008

jet puffed

i suppose when the cashier no longer asks for ID while ringing up a bottle of yellow tail shiraz, it is time to acknowledge that mid-life is more of an "epic", than a "phase", and that "proper" grown-ups really shouldn't be swigging down the $9.99 McCabernet anyway. rather like acquiring pubic hair, the long queue for god's inevitable waiting room, creeps up unnoticed, until one day admission is granted, and you look down thinking; "shit, when did THAT happen- and why are there moths flying out of my underpants, surely it hasn't been THAT long?".

while there are many boca burger eating folks with a passion for patchouli, advocating for equal rights of displaced, cross dressing koala bears, no one is without some form of "ism"-- whether it relates to the shade of blush/foundation palette at the clinique counter, a preference for women in plaid rather than playboy, or sunglasses that are larger than the dog you choose to carry around when running out to buy a gallon of milk.

despite a chronic compulsion towards carbohydrates, my biggest fear is not that i will tip the scales at "obese", or even just run-of-the-mill "fat"- this would take far more committment than even my malted milk ball dependency can compete against. rather, the concern is that the next dress size up will be discreetly tapped on the shoulder, and asked if there is room for one more, because the current one is leaving red marks accross the stomach/upper arm/up and down the thighs.

i do not want to become "puffy". for a more complete definition of this term, please log into your facebook account and view your friends list (the ones you knew from taekwondo, ballet, and swimming lessons when you were 10 years old). this is the category of individual who knows they need to lose "the little extra", but does not feel the sense of urgency to pull on their 'kiwanis 2003 charity 5k' cotton t-shirt and head to the gym, because they don't meet "contestant on the biggest loser" criteria (yet).

middle age and marriage, according to recent sightings at weddings/the park/local supermarket, would indicate that the puffy probability is set to: "all signs point to yes". the down ward spiral of sporting muffin tops over a pair of nike workout capris, ends with a singular and seamless bundt cake hanging over soft pink, velour sweat pants with "diva" stitched onto the backside.


mansuetude said...

Good Morning.
(what is a boca burger) mocha burger sounds good.

i am having hot flashes just reading this. as always, it is a danger to drink coffee while reading here. :)

Disa said...

a burger with more beans and roughage than beef- they're actually pretty tasty.

Ruth said...

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Fucking Dylan Thomas died at the age of 39. The age I will be in 40 days! NO! NO!

Raging against the muffin top! Fighting the puff - puffy is not my face, Puffy is the name of the man who BARELY beat Oprah's marathon time. She was 40 at the time. AHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Disa said...

puffy probably paid a body double or stand in for miles 8 through 24.2!

ruth said...

You're on to something with that!