The Modern Man is Getting Waisted

There are watershed moments in one's life. One's first kiss, a run in with a bully, meeting with someone who changes the direction of your life, your first date with your future ex-husband/wife and other moments that take one's life and throw it in a different direction. We can then look back at these moments, either celebrating the way our life went or cursing the day everything went to Hades in a handbasket.

Either way, it's a watershed, or in many cases, a Waterloo.

An event recently happened to me that has definately changed my outlook on life. It has headed me down a different path, nay a different aisle. A change so monumentous, it had to happen slowly and slither up on me like a giant blood thirsty snarling sneaking up thingy. Sorry, I was never good with similes.

So here is the huge watershed moment:

My waist size has increased.

I've literally gotten waisted.

I got a few Christmas gifts in the pantelones catagory that I couldn't fit into unless I sucked my stomach in like middle aged guys at the beach. I tried everything, even crying, hoping the loss of body fluid would lead to a slimmer waist line.

But no, nothing happened. I'm now a solid 34. After being a 32 in my 20's, a 33 in my 30's, I'm now a 34 in my second go at the age of 20. If you plug these numbers into the quadradic formula, carry the 3, then find the derivative, and graph the results, my waist size will be a 94 before my 60 birthday.

I may need my own zip code.

Hopefully by then we can all float around with futuristic anti-gravity devices, and I won't be forced to drive one of those mini-scooter things though the aisles of Walmart, as long as I'm under the weight limit. (Which, noting the expanding American belly, will be about 1500 pounds)

What has made is worse is that I actually work out. The lower graph doesn't fit what is occuring to me.

I remember laughing when Seindfeld changed his pants' labels to a 31 when he became a 32. I mean, how vain can one man get?

That's not a judgement, that's my current New Years resolution.

I'm now a full 2 inches wider than Seinfeld. I'm not laughing now, because if I do, I'm afraid my belly will have that movement like a bowl full of jelly. (Now that's a good simile)

A whole new world of questions has been opened to me. Will I be able to fit through turnstiles? How soon will it be before I'm asked to purchase an extra seat on an airplane? Will I now be a more dangerous dancer? Will I soon hear catcalls of "Shake it, don't break it?" When am I going to have to pull my pants up to my chest and start wearing stretchy pastel fabrics while I drink coffee with my AARP friends at McDonalds? Am I going to need a Manzier? And dear Lord, am I going to be literally putting the "middle" in middle age?

I know, it's not that bad now, but I hear everything from this age out goes down hill like a graph at a GW Bush polling convention. (Now that's a nice Simile!)

I guess I just have to stop whining and suck it up, while I suck it in.

So, goodbye 33's! We hardly knew ye. What's that? My nose is going to start drooping?

(Insert curse word here)