Tune don’t tone

Posted: December 8, 2010 in don't fight it
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I return from the shower with a face like a grouper fish.  What is going on with the scales??

I know, I know, I’m toning you say… oh come on get your pumpkin outta the oven, get your noodle into the cup.  I don’t want toning!  That’s like saying you almost want sex!  I mean come on, you either do or you don’t.  You can’t have a half intention.  It’s like making a crepe and forgetting the strawberries or having an omelette with no cheese, a fondue with no wine… that pays no due to the fondu!  I just realized those are all food related images.  I am not suffering here.  I have my smoothies but what I do not have are the pounds rolling off the scales.

“You’re toning, firming” my significant other says, “giving lift and definition.”  I’ll give her definition… The definition of a dreamlike svelte figure is fading faster than soufflé from a spoon (Damn another food analogy).

“In every difficulty therein lies opportunity.”  She gently whispers.

What!  She maybe oriental, wise, serene, beautiful, blah blah blah… BUT there is no opportunity gained here!  I am meant to be losing.

“Breathe.  Just breathe.” She says.

Breathe…?  What am I so rotund now that I need Lamaze breathing exercises, am I about to give birth?  I stare longingly at the bag of Doritos she is squirreling away behind her little frame.  Is this the opportunity?  NO I slap my wrists.

She looks back at me as if I am blind and cannot see the opportunity before me.  I cannot.

“We need onions for the omelette.”  My eyes glow at the thought of a cheese, onion, bacon and mushroom omlette.  She gives me fifteen Kroner and my sweat pants.  My head moves to one side.  Stupidity swims all too naturally across my face.  “The opportunity, dear, is to jog to the store, get the onions and jog home.”

I stare at her.  Disbelief has paralyzed my mind and soul.  It is a five mile round trip and that is hard with or without the damn onions.

She pats my shoulder and crosses by.  The Doritos craftily guarded on the far side, away from my grasp.  “Every difficulty provides opportunity dear.”

Softly I mutter at her receding slender body, “I hate the word, dear.”  But like the proverbial deer standing before the headlights of my weight, I slip on the track suit and make my way out the door.

It was actually a marvelous little jog just when the crispness of winter cuts the air.  Fresh alive.  I returned to see her bored eyes teeming with Dorito-riddled self guilt.  I shot my rosy-cheeked smile at her and waved my onions.  “What an opportunity.”

Ha! Got the little robed confucian!


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