Usually I know it’s time to go back to the gym when older heterosexual women start looking at me like the witch in Hazel and Gretel. The girl at Popeye’s gives me an extra piece of chicken and biscuit as to fatten me up. The girl at the grocery store seems to hold my hand when she hands me my change because she likes the fullness in my face. I guess a fat man means safety. They assume I won’t stray. Or that I’m too fat to run without having to sit down. Why in sitcoms those really attractive women are married to really fat unattractive men? It’s a lie. It’s said the first sign that he is cheating is when he starts working out again or caring how he looks again.
It’s true. I got a Buddha booty. It’s when the stomach sticks out further than the booty. I hate starting over. And the gym never changes. I still feel like I’m in middle school. Those damn desk attendants and trainers feel like belligerent coaches judging my physical weakness. I throw like a girl. I can’t lift more than ten pounds. I don’t want one of those prison bodies. I want a Tarzan of the Jungle body like I’ve been swinging from trees. Yet, I have my father’s hips and my mama’s thighs.
Every time I go back to the gym I have to buy a new combination lock. I can’t never seem to remember the numbers, or if I should turn the knob to the right or left. So too many times because I don’t want to pay the fifty dollars it costs to have them break the damn thing, I place my ear firmly again the lock and try to see if I can break the code. I’m usually successful. I’m like some fat cat burglar.
At the gym I never feel l know what I’m doing. Everybody seems so serious about it. I’m afraid that I look like one of those chubby losers sweating like they just overdose on sugar donuts running on the treadmill. I afraid they others look at me like I should just give it up and that I’m ever going to be skinny. I chew on a king size snickers bar because it tastes better than those sports bar. I try to suck in my stomach but it makes my back hurt. Damnit I just want to be skinny. I just want to look good in a jock strap.
How do those white girls in Hollywood do it? I think I am bulimic. The problem is I can binge on the food but never throw it back up. I’m scared that like if I ate a large pizza and threw it back up I just might stick my head in the toilet bowl and try to recover that piece of pepperoni. It’s like a dog eating its own vomit. I do drink that much. I wasting food. Kids in Africa are starving.
It’s true. I got a Buddha booty. It’s when the stomach sticks out further than the booty. I hate starting over. And the gym never changes. I still feel like I’m in middle school. Those damn desk attendants and trainers feel like belligerent coaches judging my physical weakness. I throw like a girl. I can’t lift more than ten pounds. I don’t want one of those prison bodies. I want a Tarzan of the Jungle body like I’ve been swinging from trees. Yet, I have my father’s hips and my mama’s thighs.
Every time I go back to the gym I have to buy a new combination lock. I can’t never seem to remember the numbers, or if I should turn the knob to the right or left. So too many times because I don’t want to pay the fifty dollars it costs to have them break the damn thing, I place my ear firmly again the lock and try to see if I can break the code. I’m usually successful. I’m like some fat cat burglar.
At the gym I never feel l know what I’m doing. Everybody seems so serious about it. I’m afraid that I look like one of those chubby losers sweating like they just overdose on sugar donuts running on the treadmill. I afraid they others look at me like I should just give it up and that I’m ever going to be skinny. I chew on a king size snickers bar because it tastes better than those sports bar. I try to suck in my stomach but it makes my back hurt. Damnit I just want to be skinny. I just want to look good in a jock strap.
How do those white girls in Hollywood do it? I think I am bulimic. The problem is I can binge on the food but never throw it back up. I’m scared that like if I ate a large pizza and threw it back up I just might stick my head in the toilet bowl and try to recover that piece of pepperoni. It’s like a dog eating its own vomit. I do drink that much. I wasting food. Kids in Africa are starving.
1 comment:
Ugh, I know how you feel. However, I've the opposite problem. I'm that little twerp who the muscle heads look at like he's crazy when he tries to use the free weights...
But alas I got through pain and humiliation just so I can be cute enough to get a date.
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