Body of proof
Now that I’m almost 66, I’m starting to worry about my abs. I don’t remember worrying about my abs in the ’80s or the ’90s. Actually, I don’t remember anything about the ’80s and ’90s. That’s something else to worry about.
Abs, by the way, refers to your abdominal muscles. If you thought those were called ams, you probably need to learn a little lingo before you hire a personal trainer.
Surveys show that most people hate at least one part of their body. All magazines display perfect male and female bodies. I believe that if you contacted a reputable gastroenterologist, he would tell you that people who have stomachs as flat as those in the photos cannot digest food.
I hate my own stomach, or more correctly, my belly. This is where my abs are supposed to be, but instead it looks like a foam rubber pillow there. When I see men with six-pack abs, I want six-pack abs, too. I usually just settle for a six-pack. I think you see the problem.
For a long time, I hated my hair. People kept asking me if I was losing my hair. Not really. I knew exactly where it was. In the sink. About 15 years ago, I had a hair transplant, which is sort of like what happens when a very sick person dies. “He’s gone to a better place,” people often say. That’s the same with my hair. I don’t have more of it, but what I do have they put in a better place. I’m sure that’s more information on this than you really need.
I’m also not happy with my ears. I think they stick out more than they should. My wife says I’m crazy and to be that obsessed with my own looks makes me seem very elfish. She meant selfish. I guess Freud wasn’t all wrong. After President Obama was elected I felt a lot better about this.
I also think my arms are too skinny, my thighs are too heavy and my eyes are too deep-set. My shoulders aren’t broad and my chin is weak.
The interesting thing is that if you were walking down the street and saw me, you’d probably say, “Hey, he’s not a bad looking guy.”
Now you know better.