Sign of Prosperity

Why I'd Rather Be Poor

We all convince ourself that it won't happen to us. We convince ourselves that we're doing enough to keep it at bay. Then we ignore the signs that it is happening, that it has started, and unless we reign it in, it will continue to grow. Until one day, it's too late. We've ignored it too long and it's here. There's no hiding it. I'm talking of course, about a beer belly (or as teetotallers call it, lassi belly).

I admit it - I was in denial! Being a tall, lanky lad, I assumed I would never get it. After all, back then I never drank. Had enough physical activity. I may not have been healthy, but I was gloriously, marvellously, fabulously thin! Of course, I'm still thin (enough) now. Only I have a beer belly. The combination makes me look like I have kwashiorkor.   

Unlike a beer induced hangover which goes away with a Saridon, a hot shower and some food in the stomach, a beer induced fat belly unfortunately doesn't go away. Love your curves, so long as it doesn't make you look like a three month pregnant man (fast approaching the second trimester). 

Of course, as I transitioned from student to employee, my life became more sedentary. The bulk of my week now consists of slouching slack-jawed with glazed eyes in front of the computer screen, sitting up straight whenever the boss passes by and pretending to work (I believe in working as much as you're paid). My only exercise now consists of eyebrow lifts and tongue push ups (Gym?? Hah! As if!)

Now my belly has gone beyond hiding. Bulky tees just don't conceal it. The fat refuses to settle in my biceps and triceps. Whatever triceps are! Never having had any muscle worth flaunting (my derriere, unfortunately, doesn't attract any fat), I'm woefully unaware of musculature except biceps. If I try to suck in my belly, I'm unable to breathe at the same time. 

Once upon a time, a rotund friend of mine joked about his Santa belly, saying that it's a sign of prosperity. I don't know about him, but I'd sure rather be poor.