The gym is one big long wardrobe malfunction after another. My sporty shirt is riding up over my snowman rolls and my sporty shorts are doing the same to my blubbery ass. I basically go in pajamas now to avoid this. I don’t care.
Other challenges include my iPizzle shuffling “The Swamp of Sadness” and the full face of makeup I come with after werk. I persist though. I saw a picture of myself at a wedding last weekend, and I might as well have Princess Leia chained to me.
My goal is to lose enough so that I can stick a big old shiny faux-diamond in my flat belly button and wear obnoxious half-shirts once more. I recognize that I’m not 19 anymore, but…well, maybe I don’t. I suppose this is all part of my 1/3 life crisis. Well. Whatever works.