How is it that the holes in a belt can have a direct impact on one's happiness and self definition? Realistically what are they, like a half inch apart? More like a mile. The joy of cinching that belt tighter, making it to that last little hole is a joy too extreme to be expressed, whereas, just as dramatically, the realization that you have to move backwards, a massive half inch back into the shameful previous hole, well, its down right tragic. Its can be the difference between a good start to a day or the aspiration of not eating breakfast, which is rarely never accomplished.
Today, however, has presented a new conundrum. This morning I put on my belt and glared at that final hole. Perhaps with a few dirty looks I could scare it into being accessible. Turns out, the gods were kind. Nice. As the morning went on I realized I had celebrated preemptively. A novice mistake.
Sure my belt seemed to be holding up my pants while I stood upright, but with time, and while seated, I noticed my belt was starting to lose a major battle, the victor of which happened to be my spare tire. Due to the belt setting I was no long able to hike my pants to comfortably smush in the offending excess. Lets just call it an off kilter muffin top. Sides are fine, its that pesky front angle that’s killing me. Sure if I sit perfectly upright with the best posture I can muster it rescinds ever so slightly, but the uncomfortable cutting into my belly remains. Keep in mind the muffin top does not rear its ugly head while standing, so I suppose its not as bad as it could be.
Unfortunately, to avoid spare tire bruising I've relinquished the small and apparently false victory and moved back to the previous belt hole. Yeah, its my own fault, but I'd prefer to keep some blame on the belt. Lets just call it a motivational factor to put down the cookie... ok maybe to put down the third cookie. (its healthy to be realistic)
No comments:
Post a Comment