One thing you should know about me if we're going to hang out is that I'm ridiculously healthy. I pretty much never get sick. I've never broken a bone, never had stitches, never even went to the hospital (except when my kids were born, events which were admittedly partially my fault). I can't remember the last time I had a cold, and not just because I have no memory of anything non-TV related that happened more than three weeks ago. I do seem to pick up some kind of stomach bug about once a year, probably because every other meal I eat is served to me by oily 16 year olds who do God-knows-what with their hands when they aren't making Mexican pizzas. The way I eat fast food I should have been dead and buried in a piano case about twelve years ago. Instead, at six foot two I'm a 180 pounds of muscle and sinew. Well, maybe 160 pounds of muscle and sinew and 20 pounds of gorditas.People always used to tell me that my metabolism would slow down when I got older, and boy were they right. I packed on so much weight when I hit 34 that I had to cut down from six sodas a day to four. It's my own private hell; I don't expect you to understand. My wife told me she wishes she could lose ten pounds by cutting out two sodas a day, but she doesn't drink soda at all. I tell her, hey, that's not my fault. I'm just glad I had the discipline to start drinking a sixpack a day before middle school. If I ever really start to get tubby, I'll have to cut out mainlining bacon grease.
Am I telling you all this just to make you feel bad? Well, no, except to the extent that making other people feel bad makes me feel better about myself. And yet some vestigial sense of decency compels me to provide some semblance of balance. Would it help you to know that I have a lot of deep seated emotional problems? Oh, I guess the narcissism and delusions of grandeur tipped you off to that. Still, it has to count for something, right?
Did I mention that my eyesight sucks?
Technorati Tags: health, fast food, soda, fat, humor
Labels: Full of Myself
]]>