Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Time's stupid winged chariot

If you're like me, then while you are at work you spend a lot of time in the bathroom.

Not always using the toilet, necessarily, but sometimes just admiring the spectacle of yourself in the bathroom mirror.


Oh yes, I know, I often present myself as frumpy, hunched; an infantile she-male left too long in the bath and now quite pruny.

But let me assure you, there are days when I look in the bathroom mirror at work and I think, yes, YES HA HA HA oh my hotness make a muscle now, quarter turn, do that thing where your buttocks jounce about independent of each other, undulate your pelvis in rough approximations of circles, you are positively leonine!!!

In those moments, my entirety could be summated in two words: "potent flanks."

I have to whisper those words into the crook of my arm to squelch my hysterical love for my own body. But that is my error.

For there in the bend where forearm abuts bicep, a crack appears.

Damn the desert trenches of my old man elbows. Damn them for betraying my advancing age and proximity to the grave.


My elbows have become two splats of rancid pancake batter, topped with seed warts.

From there, my preening in the bathroom mirror wobbles on its pommel horse and crashes spectacularly to the floor, leaving it's leotarded buttocks flopped skyward and it's dignity shredded by a score of straight 5.5's.

Ananias now slaps the fish scales from my eyes and shouts, "Dammit Saul, you're Fat Paul now, stop sucking in that bomb shelter of a belly and see yourself for what you really are!!" I know, I know it; a trembling saucer of white jelly. Striketh me no more, brother Ananias, mined eyes are yay verily opened. 

When was the last time I was able to put on my socks without rolling back onto the bed and flinging my legs up to my chest like some fleshy expired beetle?


I have to take a giant breath before I do it, because there is no hope of breathing once my prodigious bottom half has been swung up above my top. My hands must work quickly. They scrabble at the cotton edges of my knee-highs and I think, I know what it is to drown. To grow old and inflexible, a hairy plank toppled across the years till death.

And if my beloved boys were to enter the bedroom at that moment and see their father, their surrogate for God on earth, all pretzled within himself and gasping for the last corner of sock, the albino blaze of his thighs lifted to the ceiling, how could they go on?

How could they ever look me in the eye when I showed them how to change a flat tire, or pump gas, or shoot a basketball without jumping and in a completely horizontal chuck?

"Aim for the painted square of the backboard, boys, and just whip that ball at it hard as you can. Swoosh!"

They only look down, sadly, wanting to have never seen, burning with the shameful knowledge of their father's debasement.

"Whatsa matter with you, anyways?" I say, awkwardly dribbling the ball with one tensed hand and heading for the basket. "Who's gonna stop me?!" I taunt, but no one moves.

Just shy of the hoop, the ball careens off the top of my foot and flies into the nearby poison ivy.

I make a noise as if to mimic the blow of a referee's whistle, but it comes out only as a fart of spitty air.

"Out of the bounds!" But they have moved off, one to hunt for pill bugs in the tall grass, the other to ride his tricycle in furious circles around the driveway, pedaling faster and faster so that his father, even at a full sprint, cannot hope to reach him.

22 comments:

  1. Oh Gween, how cruel of you to titillate me with such a glorious behind whilst I'm at work...

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    Replies
    1. Sorry-I knew that picture was pushing some boundaries but I was all caught up in it

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  2. The more I read you, the more I'm convinced you're Philip Seymour Hoffman.

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    Replies
    1. Ha! He's way richer than me-but we do share a certain middle-aged formlessness to our bodies

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  3. ".... their surrogate for God on earth ..." - supreme

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    Replies
    1. From dufmanno comment - question: how would you feel about Philip Seymour Hoffman playing you in the movie "Gweenbrick, The Wrath of"

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    2. I'd be down with it, though he does not do the bald look too well-though neither do I so it comes out even, as long as I get paid for the use of my incredible life experiences

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    3. I am thinking that your neXt big cyberspace gold mine is to market your Gweenbrick font used in your drawings.

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  4. If my children especially my daughter, catches me in either my underwear, they turn their heads in disgust. They also have pet names for any extra flab hanging off my body.
    Embrace it Gween-stick your old man elbows in your kids face and yell out, " Look at the decay! Look at it! Love it, because this is what awaits you little trolls!" Then laugh maniacally until your wife gently leads you away.

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    Replies
    1. They name your flab?? Those cruel beasts. What good are children anyways? They are like expensive insult dispensing monkeys

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  5. I'm pushing 50, I'm slightly overweight, my belly hasn't seen the sun in years so it's pasty white and since arthritis ravaged my spine and I had to have it fused, I can't wipe my bottom. Does that make you feel better? By the way, I loved the sock application. I do the same thing!

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    1. No it doesn't. It just makes me feel guilty for complaining at all. So now, old, inflexible, and guilty to boot. Thanks Elizabeth.

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  6. So are we talking exfoliation here? Just a little dab of your wife's Apricot Scrub might do the trick on those elbows. Make it a spa day!

    <3

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    Replies
    1. We can't have fruit flavored exfolients of any kind around the house, because in my fevered midnight binges, I use them for apple dippers and spend all the next day laid up with a sore tummy.

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  7. dHahaha and Ohhhhh:( and
    Hmmmm (as I look to my crepe and creases)- 'oh unkind light! why dost thou mock me so?'
    Dimmer bulbs help:)

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    Replies
    1. Hi Julie! You've been missing again-No shortage of dim bulbs around here, I says, nyuck nyuck

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  8. Do you know how rich this story really is? Man. Genius.

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  9. Now i am forcing 50, Now i am a bit obese, my abdominal hasn't already seen sunlight within decades so it's pasty whitened as well as Best store cards online given that arthritis ravaged my vertebrae as well as My spouse and i had to have the idea fused, Could not wipe my underside. Will which make you sense far better? By the way, My spouse and i loved your sock app. I actually do exactly the same thing!

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