Stubborn Body Fat

This is the time of year where we all try to pay for our gastronomical sins of the past several weeks.  All of the holiday eating and drinking.  All of the attempts to try to make up for the cold, dark days of little daylight.  We are simply copying our ancestors attempts to store up fat for the winter.  Unfortunate for us, our ancestors had to work at things a lot harder than we do, especially on the physical front.  After seeing some product or service advertised as being able to battle "stubborn body fat," I suddenly saw stubborn body fat as this creepy little character that we sometimes take for granted.  And, from that, came this.

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Against my better judgement, I got into one heck of an argument last evening.  And against an opponent that I should have known better to take on.  And, no, it wasn’t Geri, though she is certainly a worthy opponent.  

Nope, last evening I decided to get into a little discussion with my Belly Fat, aka Stubborn Belly Fat, which should have tipped me off right away.  The “Stubborn” part.  For the sake of brevity, I’ll refer to that SOB as SBF from this point forward, and let’s not mistake the BF for Best Friend, though the way it hangs around and follows me everywhere I go, you might think he was a really good buddy of mine.  

So the whole thing starts innocently enough when I’m looking in the mirror, something I try to do sparingly, and, noticing the bulk around my middle,  I remark quietly, “You’ve got to go.”

I was walking away when Stubborn BF responded with, “What did you just say?”

I stopped and turned back to the mirror.

“You’ve got to go.  I said ‘you’ve got to go.’  I’m not interested in keeping you and you certainly aren’t good for me.”

“Well,” SBF responded, with just a touch of snootiness, “you’ve sure invested a lot of time getting me here.  I mean, you’d think I was some sort of artistic pursuit or something the way you’ve tweaked and groomed me over the past many months. A double cheeseburger here, a couple of extra slices of pizza there.  A few “I’ll have some more of that creamy milk gravy on these three biscuits that I just can’t live without.  And pass the jelly, please.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” I said.  “Because I can be just as stubborn as you, and  arguing will get us nowhere.”

Silence.

“You heard me, didn’t you?  I’m not going to let you trap me into some argument I can’t win.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay,” I said, with just a twinge of exasperation in my voice.  “What does ‘whatever’ mean?”

“I’m just saying that I’m only here because you invited me here.  I’m not exactly a trespasser.  It’s not like I’m a drop-in guest or I take up a lot of room.  Well, maybe a little room.  I noticed that you’ve had to box up the 36 waists and haul them to storage again.”  A hint of a giggle.  “And from the feel of things, the 38s aren’t far behind.”  Now a full laugh.  “Do I hear a bid for 40s?”

“Very funny,” I said.  “How difficult is it to be a comedian and a pain in the rear at the same time?” I asked.  “By the way, you’re stubborn but you’re really not a comedic talent.  Keep your day job.”

“What?  My day job of keeping you short of breath, making your knees hurt when you walk up the stairs, giving you a nice, aged ‘portly’ look like something out of a Charles Dickens novel?  My day job, huh?  How about my night job of supporting your sleep apnea?  Or making you feel like a beached dolphin every time you turn to sleep on your stomach?  Want me to keep that, too?”

“Look,” I lashed out.  “There’s no need to get ugly here.  Keep that up and you’ll be referred to as Nasty, Stubborn Belly Fat.”

“Keep eating like every meal’s your last one and you’ll be referred to as the Michelin Man.  Or you can get a job as a stand-in for Orca at Sea World.”

I cringed a bit.  “Wow...you really are one nasty hunk of Belly Fat, aren’t you?”

“No, not really.”

“Yes, you are.  Nasty, cutting, just plain mean old Belly Fat.”

“Nope...not me.”

“Of course you are, you’re...oh, I get it.  You’re doing your “stubborn” schtick.   Well, I’m not going to play your little game anymore.  In fact, I’m heading to the gym first thing in the morning.  Me and Mr. Elliptical have a date.

“Sure thing,” SBF replied.  “Will that be before or after the bacon, egg, and cheese deluxe with hashbrowns?”

“Neither,” I said proudly.  “That will be after the dry wheat toast and before the orange and apple slices.”

“Right, Spare Tire Boy, we’ll see.”

“Oh, we’ll see alright.  In about eight weeks you and I won’t be having this conversation.”

“Yeah?”  SBF had a hint of curiosity in his voice.  “How so?”

“Why, figure it out, Einstein.  You won’t exist anymore.  You’ll be gone...kaput...adios.  Arrivederchi and don’t let the screen door hit you on the way out.”

I could sense the unease that was slipping into SBF’s psyche.  He wanted to bargain.

“Say, listen, pal.  Maybe we could compromise a little.  Maybe if I promised not to be so stubborn.  Maybe if I promised to cooperate with you a little more and maybe even shifted around a little so that I didn’t stay just around your belly.  You’ve got some room in your arms and legs...maybe I could just...like, you know...spread out a little.”  He whispered.  “In fact, you could use a little of me in your rear end...you’re flattening out a little there.”

I had him where I wanted him so I went for the jugular.  

“Pack it up, pal.  It’s over.  You and me, see, just aren’t meant for each other.  I know a million guys who would love to have you.  Well, not really love to have you.  But I know a million guys who would be willing to put up with you and your attitude more than me.  So spend the next few weeks looking around for another sucker to hang on to.  We’re done.”

“You can’t do this to me!” SBF shouted.  “It’s not fair!  You let a guy get all comfortable and such...get him used to stretching the waistbands out a little...putting strain on the shirt buttons...making the pockets hard to get into...and then you kick him to the curb.”

“Yep, well put,” I said.  “I can’t argue with that.  And thanks for making me see even more clearly what I need to do.  So, pack it up and pack it in, SBF...there’s some guy out there with two six-packs of brew and a bag of pork skins looking for some company.  And you’ll do just fine.”  “Look at it this way,” I added.  “You’ll never be totally alone.  The world is full of guys willing to haul you around.”

“Okay,” SBF murmured.  “Be that way.  But you’ll miss me.  You’ll see.  And just when you think you’re over me, you’ll relax, you’ll have that second ham sandwich, that double cream pie shake to wash down the chili fries, and, before you know it, I’ll have moved back in.  This isn’t our first rodeo, pal.  We’ve been down this road before.  And you know who always wins, don’t you?  Yep...you got it.  Good old SBF.”

“Because you’re stubborn?” I asked.  “I can be just as stubborn as you. You don’t have the franchise on being stubborn.

“No,” SBF snickered. It’s got nothing to do with you being stubborn.  It’s because you’re weak, pal.”

He winked and before I could scoot out of earshot...he hit me with it again.

“It’s because you’re weak, pal, it’s because you’re weak.”