suddenly pudgy

I'm Pudgy. I don't know when it happened (possibly last night while I was sleeping), but all of a sudden, I'm chunky. Doughy. You know . . . fat.

See, my wife and I and our kids--all five of them--walked to the library this afternoon. Now, normally, this would be fun. You know, the weather was nice-ish and the kids weren't trying to kill each other and everybody was excited to get out of the house for a while after another great Spring Break filled with rainy weather.

Well, that is, I was excited until I found myself sweating profusely and short of breath. And that was just after getting out of the chair and slipping my crocs on. Yeah. Crocs. Not lace-up shoes. Not even velcro. They were slip on shoes. Slip on shoes. And I was still winded.

Anyway, with my crocs on, I shuffled and wheezed my way to our little storage barn, dragged the strollers out and struggled to open them. By the time they stood open on the yard, waiting for children to fill them, sweat was pouring off my body in tiny rivers and I was panting like I'd just run a marathon. Not too long after that, my wife bustled outside in her little "exercise suit" and announced she was ready for our walk. Well, my little heart was thumping away in my chest and I thought maybe I was having a heart attack, but I put on a good face and we all started walking to the library.

As we walked, I started to feel a little better, but I noticed an odd sensation around my stomach area. I couldn't quite explain it--it was a weird pressing feeling--and my mind instantly hearkened back to the notion that I was having a heart attack or, at the very least, experiencing strange, inexplicable internal problems (probably cancer or something). Just as I was about ready to tell Tami (my wife) to make sure to get remarried after my imminent passing, I figured out what was causing the weird pressing sensation. It wasn't an internal problem afterall. My belly was rubbing against the handle of the stroller as I walked.

I looked down and saw my stomach resting firmly on the handle, bouncing up and down as the stroller moved, and I nearly recoiled in disgust. How had this happened? I've pushed this stroller hundreds of times and my stomach has never rested on the handle before . . . . I closed my eyes, counted to three and opened them again. Dang. Still there, blobbing along on the handle bar, jiggling at me and wiggling like it was some sort of living entity.

I wanted to cry. Now, it's not that I don't like fat people. I do. Honest, I do. I just didn't ever plan on being one. But the facts were indisputable. There it was, my belly, being rubbed raw against the handle of the stroller. Solid proof of one thing: I'm fat.

Well, we walked a little longer and I laughed to myself--at least my sudden obesity explained the heavy breathing I experience during meals as well as the constant sweating and the heart attack symptoms. Then, I realized that the heart attack symptoms could actually be real. Now that I'm fat, that's probably going to be the way of it for me--struck down dead at a young age while trying to carry a bag of Double Cheeseburgers back to my table at McDonald's. Yeah, that's what I want--to go like that.

I can just hear the people at the funeral now:

"He was so young."

"Yes, he was. But he was also sooooooo fat. Just look at him. Look. If you poke him in the stomach, it still jiggles, see? Wow, I mean, come on . . . he's been gone for what, 3 days now? 3 days gone and still jiggling . . . that's fat . . . ."

I snapped out of my thoughts when we reached the library and I laughed. I started to feel better--I couldn't really have become this obese overnight--maybe I was just unusually bloated today. Yeah . . . that had to be it--it had to be a severe case of bloat.

I was telling myself those hopeful lies when I walked past a window. The sun popped out from behind some clouds at that precise moment (thanks, God) and I saw myself displayed in horrendous form--reflected perfectly in the glass. It looked at first like circus glass--you know, fun house mirrors or something--but sadly, no. Real glass. Regular glass.

The vision of my pudginess so surprised (and horrified) me that I stopped the stroller, pulled the handle out from the flab that had wrapped around it as we walked (I think it even made a slurpy, sucking sound like you'd hear when you pull a stick out of mud) and I stood in front of that window and admired (if that's the right word) myself.

I was standing kind of slumped over (I'm supposing this is due to the weight of my gut), my hair was shaggy and wild, and no matter how hard I sucked my gut in, it still looked like I was wearing a life jacket. And then . . . no, can it be? It can't. It can't. It has to be the glass--a trick of the light. I looked again, but there was no denying it.

I had man bosoms.

Yes. Man bosoms.

Do you know how difficult that is to write? Thankfully, nobody reads this blog anyway.

Well, we wandered through the library and when we were done, my wife said, "Shall we go to the bakery?"

The bakery? Is she insane? The last thing I need is deep fried, sugary anything. I need to eat lettuce leaves for 6 months or get lost in a Rain Forest or go on Survivor or something. I don't need donuts or cookies or . . . but oh, they do sound good . . . maybe just a small one . . . maybe just a . . . . NO! Be strong. You need lettuce, fat boy, not sugary, tasty icing on one of those Apple Slice things that are so good . . . . NO! NO! Be strong.

In the end, I was strong. I told my wife "no bakery today," and I steered the strollers toward home. All the way, I thought about my sudden obesity and my man bosoms . . . and baked goods. And I made plans to exercise and treat my body better and to lose weight and look good in a swimsuit and not to have man bosoms or to get the stroller handle stuck in my stomach or to have it make squishy, sucking sounds when I pull it out. I made plans to be a new person. I made plans to get fit and stay fit. I made plans to have abs (or whatever they're called).

Yeah . . . we'll see. This blog's name isn't what it is for no reason.