I've gotten fat. Well, my friends still tell me I'm not fat, but they say that because they're my friends, and possibly because they're afraid I'll eat them. But either way, I now weigh two pounds more than I did when Ryan was born and have decided to do something about it. So I made Tom buy me excercise equipment. The conversation went something like this:
ME: Remember when I asked what you'd do if I ever got fat?
TOM: Yeah. . .
ME: And you said you'd buy me a treadmill and refuse me affection?
TOM: Well that's not exactly what I said but, yeah. . .
ME: WHERE THE HELL IS MY DAMNED TREADMILL?? YOU OWE ME!!!
So, I got my machine. Not a treadmill, since I have bad knees, but close. I got a Tony Little Gazelle. So now I can swing my legs back and forth with no semblance of coordination until I am a thin and desirable woman. Well, a worn out and sore woman, anyway. But I am doing the Gazelle thing for an hour a day (for the most part) and am waiting for the pounds to melt away. They are not melting. I fear they are unable to melt. I also fear they are reproducing. The next step is diet, which I dread. I don't eat much, but I drink a lot of Mountain Dew. I read the can; Mountain Dew is 170 calories per can. I did the Gazelle for an hour and a half today and only burned 100 calories. Mountain Dew is evil. I know I should switch to diet, but diet Dew tastes like 7Up and I hate 7Up. When I was little my dad would make me drink 7Up if I puked and that association is hard to work past. Why can't Tom like fat chicks like I do? My life would be so much easier if Tom could just see my belly fat as a gigantic third boob, with a naval nipple.
Women, we should totally push that philosophy. Maybe a girdle with an underwire or something, like a cummerbund by Wonderbra. That might help. I mean, belly fat takes inches off the penis, but it does nothing to our naughty bits. We should embrace our fat, if for no other reason than that it would be easier than a lifetime on the Gazelle.
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2 comments:
So let me get this straight - you glide on that thing *off the ground*?
I would totally kill myself on that contraption.
Yes, I'll be honest. I have occasionally lost my rhythm and stumbled a bit, but nothing as bad as I expected. I fully expected that I would get on the thing and accidentally do the splits, sending one of the foot thingies forward in a full arc to kick me in the butt. Or maybe the back one would come up and hit me in the back of my head. Either way, I feel that the cables keeping the machine from extending beyond its intended positions is the only reason I am not right this minute being prepared for my double-wide casket.
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