It pains me to say, but at some indeterminate point in the past, I traded in my washboard stomach for a top-loader. It’s like I accidentally left my six-pack in the car and it got too warm, exploding into an Orson Wellian pear-shaped flesh balloon. –Not that I need to be buried in a piano case or anything, but as a middle-aged archetype, I am admittedly soft in places that were previously not places.
Being fat doesn’t really concern me; four out of five dentists surveyed are also fat. Continue reading