I'm not Gutzilla...not yet anyway

It was a sad day indeed.

I remember it vividly: the angst, the sorrow, the disappointment.

It was a day where I sat back and took stock of my life: the decisions I made to get me to this point; the paths I should have taken; the paths I did take. 

Yup, it was the day I could no longer suck in my gut to make it look like I didn't really have a gut.

Like I said, it was a dark day indeed.

I knew my gut was getting bigger. 

Hell, it was right there in front of me, so how could I miss it?

It seemed like every day my middle section became more prominent.

For a while, I could clench my abdominal muscles and make it look like I had a flat belly.

However, this could only be done for a short period of time before my face turned red and I passed out from lack of oxygen.

A small price to pay for beauty, though.

However, as Father Time continued to slap me around, sucking in the flab became harder to do until one day I woke up, looked in the mirror and realized no matter how hard I tried, my gut would remain out there for the world to see.

So I did the only logical thing: I bought larger shirts that would seem baggy on me and make me look thinner.

And it worked great – in my mind anyway, but at the end of the day, my abdominal shame was on display for all to see.

I had a shirt full of belly and I knew it.

And the stupid mirror knew it too.

Every time I would walk past the blasted device, my shame was there for me to see — protruding like some sort of carnival side show freak. 

Well, maybe not quite that bad, but it was noticeable.

I was hardly Gutzilla; that would be my neighbour who looks like he is 18 months pregnant with triplets, but I was hardly the svelte lad of yesteryear.

But then again, neither are my friends.

When I go a period of time without seeing them, the first thing I do is compare abdominal regions to see if they have outpaced me in the getting flabby competition.

Some of my friends have, some haven't.

Now, I just spend more time with the ones who are more abdominally enhanced than I am. Not necessarily because they are better friends, but because it makes me feel better about myself.

This works at the beach as well. The key is not to find the best spot with the best view, but to find the fattest person or people.

By dropping your towel next to a weight-enhanced individual, you automatically take a couple steps down the flab-o-metre. 

The problem is when someone does the same thing to you to make themselves look good. Eventually, there is a line of people from XXL to XL to L to M. all in a row along the beach.

But packing on the protruding pounds is part of getting older I suppose.

There are a few exceptions to the rule. I worked with one gentleman who was several years older than I was who was in fantastic shape. Flat belly, outstanding cardio – the guy was as fit as someone half, or even a third his age.

Yup, I really hated that guy.

There was a day when I could eat whatever I wanted and not have to worry about gaining so much as a pound.

Scrumming down a bacon cheeseburger with fries, gravy and Coke at 3 a.m.after a hard night of clubbing was not unheard of. 

And I would not gain an ounce of flab.

Now, just writing about the mouth-watering, late-night treat I put on three pounds.

So, if you will excuse me, I have some really baggy shirts to buy.

Copyright 2017, Darren Handschuh

A few lessons for all you new husbands

In high school, students are often taught life skills like how to cook and do bankbooks, but the course should also include wife skills that clearly outlines what should and should not be said.
Having been married for more than two decades, I have learned a lot about the opposite sex.
I still don't understand them, but I am less confused (slightly less) than I was 20 plus years ago when I said “I do.”
But I am trainable, so I have learned a few things that have helped me survive the joys of marriage.
When we first got married, I would pretty much say the first thing that popped into my head and express my opinion before my brain had a chance to analyze the question and more importantly the possible ramifications of the answer.
I am not saying to be dishonest with your spouse, but to phrase your response in the most favourable light possible.
Of course the universal question “Does this make me look fat?” is a no brainer and even as a newlywed I knew not the answer was always no.
Even if her butt can be seen from outer space, the answer must always be, “Of course not, Dear.”
Fortunately, it was an easy question to answer then as it is now, because I am blessed with a wife who not only runs the home, but manages to stay fit in the process.
One day, shortly after our nuptials, the little woman came home with a new hair do and asked what I thought.
Having been married for less than a year, my mouth would engage much faster than my brain and my response was not the best.
“You look like a poodle,” I said of her wavy hair without any real concern.
Wrong answer, and I am talking wrong with a capital W-R-O-N-G.
This was my first real introduction to answering questions in the correct fashion.
The look on her face told me that I just made a major blunder.
I tried talking my way out of it, but seeing as how she is much smarter than I am, there was little I could do but apologize and mark it down as a lesson learned.
She could come home with dead rats duct-taped onto her head and I would rant about what an innovative hair style she has.
That is not to patronize her, but is more a survival technique than anything else.
I am sure she does the same thing.
“Honey, is my stomach getting too big.”
“Why of course not,” may be her answer, but she is thinking “not if you are a pregnant oranguatan that is.”
Bloated primates aside, there is a certain amount of leeway in a marriage when it comes to commenting on hair styles, food – even if it is boiled possum tails it is the best meal you have ever had – and, of course, body size and shape.
All of these rules can go both ways. I have only experienced them from the husband side of the line, but I guarantee my wife could provide her own endless list of enhanced comments for my benefit.
So to all you husbands out there remember: her butt is never too big, her hair is perfect and that dress looks great.
To the wives of the world: pot bellies are cute, bald spots are even cuter and the prison slop he created for a surprise meal is spectacular (you can get your stomach pumped when he is not looking.)

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh