One of the wonderful things about my little beach house in HMB is the closet space. Until you've lived in Manhattan, or someplace similar, you will have a hard time understanding just how very precious closet space is. In the house in HMB, my bedroom has an actual walk-in closet, with fancy Elfa Container-Store shelving and everything. I wanted the house as soon as I saw the view, but I knew I'd actually really take it when I saw the bedroom closet.
I am almost done now completely unpacking and putting stuff away, and in the last week or so I've put all the clothes that used to sit stuffed away in nooks and crannies in NYC onto shelves and hangars. Included among these things were my black suit pants, which I got just before leaving for business school in 1998. At that time, I was in basically the best aerobic shape of my life, having just ended a 4 year run on the competitive ballroom circuit and having spent basically 30 hours a week practicing, which is seriously hard aerobic work.
So yesterday, I took my black pants down off the hangar and put them on, in preparation for going to work. This was the first time I've put them on in some years. And that's when I noticed:
I am a muffintop.
why whY wHY WHY?!?! This can't be happening! Not to ME!!! DAMMIT! I can handle the increasingly creaky joints. I can handle the slowly accelerating migration of my hair southward down my body. But I will _not_ go portly into that good night.
Therefore, it is time. Time to resurrect The War on Pudge. I've been too lax. I leave next week for NYC and StL, but when I get back, I'm joining the local YMCA and I'm fighting back. By the end of 2008, I will be able to put on those damn pants and not be a muffintop. You heard it here first.
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