Most people have their “shtick”- which is a made up word (ie; Yiddish) for their “thing” – in my case- it’s my uncanny ability to eat relatively clean during the work week and then come Friday night through Sunday night- all bets are off and anything goes. Pizza, Popcorn, Ice Cream, Peanut Butter by the jar full…. You name it I eat it – And without a stitch of guilt. Weekends are for drinking and eating without abandon.
In addition, I don’t move….I don’t workout at all. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m a TOTAL sloth- I do live in sunny Florida with amazing weather most of the year so I have no excuse not to get out and about –I do bike ride with the kids (3 MPH and stopping every 3 minutes for an itch that needs scratching ) or swim laps (Ok, Ok, play marco polo in the pool ) but never anything too exerting.
Nope, my weekends are for binge eating and relaxing with the family.
Yup, I pride myself in my ability to easily gain 80 pounds on the weekend and lose 82 by Thursday, only to start the entire cycle over again.
Along with my shtick comes the Monday morning bloat (or more realistically, the beer belly gut hanging over my workout pants and of course the usual conversation with my gym buddies (who are all age 80 +) about how amazingly HUGE my butt got in the two days since they saw me.
So, when I was on the elliptical yesterday morning at the fitness center at my club and one of my gym buddies came over and told me there’s something on my backside- I just thought he was joking around with me about my usual weekend butt “GROWTH”. So I giggled and passed it off as him mocking me about my “Shtick” of weekend overindulging.
Then – 26 minutes later- I got off the machine and looked in the mirror.
There was a LONG piece of toilet paper hanging from the back of my pants .
YUP…..I had a seat liner stuck to my LuLus.
At first I could feel the flush of redness overcome my face. But within a nanosecond I started to smile- which turned to a giggle- which turned to a laugh -which turned to an all out BROO HA HAA. I could not contain myself at just how funny I thought it was that I had spent 30 minutes on a machine during peak gym hours with a piece of toilet paper hanging out of my tuchus.
Which made me think….
Years ago when I was in my early 20’s and in the dating scene, I had been on a second date in a very fancy restaurant in NYC with a guy I had really liked. He kept staring at my mouth. Back then I was a (self considered) Hottie and just assumed he was admiring my pretty lips. It was only after I got home and washed up when I realized I had a piece of spinach stuck perfectly in between my two front teeth. Prominent and lodged as tight as a cork in a wine bottle. (I broke 3 pieces of dental floss trying to ply it out).
Back then that was such an embarrassing moment. I was mortified.
But now, 20 years later, it occurred to me that I have in fact, matured.
I no longer care about the small things that used to matter.
There is no such thing as embarrassing moments once you’ve given birth and spread eagle to the entire labor floor.
The toilet paper incident would have humiliated me 20 years ago but now it just reaffirmed what I already know:
As we age we quickly learn that things happen. It’s up to you to take them in stride and roll with the punches and laugh it off as ‘experience’ or to make a bigger deal than it needs to be.
In my case, the older I get the more hilarious “REAL” things become. I suppose it’s a rite of passage as we age.
Just make sure you stop me when I get to the point where I think it’s acceptable to fart in an elevator.
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