Unfortunately, what I really want is a Krispy Kreme doughnut. And not one from Kroger, sitting jammed in that green and white box like a new pack of hockey pucks covered in grease.
No sir. What I want is a real Krispy Kreme doughnut. One that you pick out yourself, like a new puppy at the pound, still soft and sweet and smelling of puppy breath. The one that burns your fingers when you pick it up because you were lucky enough to be driving by when the 'hot' sign went on, a red beacon of hope and deliciousness calling out across the heavens. The one that has the substance and weight of an angel's sigh. It melts in your mouth and all you can say, past the tears streaming down your cheeks and through glaze covered lips, is just: I love you.
Instead, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I'm standing there naked, slack jawed...and not like usual, where I'm in absolute amazement with my own junk. No, this time I'm just looking at my gut, hanging there like a forgotten baby on the doorstep of my sternum with a note that says, "Take care of him. He'll be loyal and will stick with you forever."
When did it get so big? I've lost nearly 60 pounds! You'd think it would be smaller. But it's not. It's just sitting there, looking back at me through the dark eye of my navel. Mocking me. Laughing at me. Singing at me.
When I walk on by, - girls look away and so do guys.
Bugatchi shirt, workin' hard - trying to hold in this mound of lard, lord.
Sweet scent of Bvlgari - doesn't help me actually see my feet.
Expensive shirts so I look fly
Instead I look like that Kuato guy. Ugh!"
I don't even bother stepping on the scale, torture device that it is, there to taunt me like the the ghost of Hamlet's father. Nothing I do is ever enough. "I run, damn you! I ran 5 miles this weekend! What must I do???" And the scale says the same thing....for months, it says the same thing. So, I spray on more cologne and hope that the smell will make you squint when I get close and your stinging eyes will fail to see the goose I have hidden under my shirt.
In the mail the other day, I got the latest issue of Men's Health. Who's this prick on the cover? Am I supposed to be impressed? Did YOU ever weight over 300 pounds, Mr. Stephen Moyer or Vin Diesel or Jason Statham or David Beckham or nameless dude from a soap opera? I laugh at you and your stupid abs...wow, those are nice abs. Ok, maybe I'll read one more article.
The articles don't help. I still end up here, staring at my own gut in what must be a fun house mirror because ex-military guys who run 5 miles and are training for 10-mile Tough Mudder obstacle courses do NOT have all the passengers of Noah's Ark riding just above their nethers.
"Ah. Girl look at that body.Ah. Girl look at that body. Ah. Girl look a that body.
I pork out.
Ah. Girl look at that body.Ah. Girl look at that body. Ah. Girl look a that body.
I pork out.
When I walk to the buffet, this is what I see:
People walking fast so they can get ahead of me.
I got stretchmarks on my gut and I ain't afraid to show it...show it..show it...show it...
I'm chunky and I know it!"
Have you ever HOPED to have a disease? I HOPE I have anorexia and that people are actually seeing a very skinny me and I'm the only one that sees Every-Sitcom-Husband-With-The-Hot-Wife looking back at me (Yeah, I'm talking to you, Kevin James!).
"Jiggle jiggle jiggle jiggle jiggle. Yeah!"
I break away from the mirror and get dressed. Maybe I'm just having a down day. Maybe I'm feeling a little peckish from not having eaten enough protein. Maybe I'm dehydrated. A new perspective is all I need. I'm a Leo! I'm Mr. Vain. I'm Mr. Brightside. I'm Mister Mister. I'm learning to fly again, learning to live so free.
And I do feel better, almost instantly. Being away from the mirror helps. Then again, maybe I should keep mirrors around all the time, hovering around me like a shield of humility. They build my resolve. Without them...
...well, let's just say that Krispy Kreme is only about 30 minutes away...and wouldn't you know it: the hot sign was on.