Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Hey big guy, you through with that plate?

I am fat.
I said it.
I know it.  My friends know it.
The skinny waiter at Olive Garden knows it.
He's the one that called me big guy.  I would have kicked his butt if I weren't out of breath and not out of food. 

I can remember telling my father I would never be as fat as he was.  Well I am.  And I don't drink beer.  They say a beer is like a loaf of bread.  I don't know about that but I have probably had a six pack this week. 

I am fat.
I injured myself trying to put on my boots the other day.  For the past several years I have either worn shoes without laces.  Or taken the laces out of the shoes.  Or worn flip-flops.  Flip-flops are no longer an option because there are low land gorillas with prettier feet than mine. 

I am fat.
How fat are you?
So fat that soon my self-deprecating humor might turn into self-defecating humor.
So fat that people at work ask when the baby is due.  Favorite answer:  20 minutes.
So fat when I sleep on my stomach my knees don't touch the bed.
So fat that if I keep up the pace I'm on I will have to be twelve feet tall to be my ideal weight.
So fat that if I keep up this pace I will be dead before I'm 60.
I have high blood pressure.  High cholesterol.  Bad knees.  Heartburn all the time.

I am fat.
So I begin the process of losing this weight that is killing me. 
I hear crystal meth is a sure way to lose weight in a hurry.

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