Don’t think I don’t see all you proud people walking around with your gigantic melons held high. It bugs me like a plague of locusts because I’m proud too, but my pigeon-bobby noggin weighs more than the sun and the moon together.
I’m trying really hard, I really am, but mug frame has got to be made of lead or something. I’m not looking at the ground because I’m ashamed, embarrassed or lost my contact lens, it’s just that my coconut outweighs the Skipper and I couldn’t even keep thing up for a three-hour cruise.
I’ve been working out every day for almost three months now. I do frog-style ab crunches, wiggling, and even a lot of stretching. I’m stronger now in my old age than ever before, even when I was a young man. Still, trying to hold my head up high and steady feels like the work of Atlas (the Greek one, not Charles,* but him too.)
If you see me in the world at small, medium, or large don’t think my droopy gaze has anything to do with being insecure, it’s just all the effort I have tucked under my newborn belt.** I’m working out as much as I can and am eating a high-milk diet, so just bear with me.