Flapping Asses And Arms, Yo

When your ass flaps against the backs of your legs, you know it's time to hit the gym.

And, as luck would have it, I looked up "ass flap" in the dictionary, and guess who I saw? That's right. Me. With my ass, hitting the backs of my legs like there's no tomorrow.

There was no better time than Saturday to witness this amazing event, as I spent the better part of the day gardening. That's right. I gardened my entire front area, including three largish pots, the entire front of the steps, and I also put down a bag full of black mulch, because I saw it at someone's house last week and liked it enough to remember it. I thought it looked awesome, and would therefore make my house and garden look awesome as well. That's how it works, isn't it?



As I tilled the soil and got my hands extremely dirty (well, mostly my right hand, because I tend to use one hand more than the other, and I also tend to unconsciously keep one hand clean when doing dirty tasks. No, I don't know why), I let the sun bake my cold and withered body, and I slowly took off layers of clothing as the air warmed up around me. It was a nice change. So nice, in fact, that I didn't notice the day fly by, and the body slowly feel more and more stiff. I was actually enjoying my physical labour, which is a rare occasion indeed.

At one point, I walked over to the front bay window, which basically covers half the front of our home, and waved at Mr. Handsome and Dee, who were comfy inside playing Wii tennis and screaming like men do when they are competing (and when aren't they). As I waved, the lower half of my upper arm jiggled like nothing I've ever seen before. It was almost like that whole section of my arm was filled with jelly. It scared me. But it scared Dee and Mr. Handsome even more, because they started holding their heads and screaming, "Noooo!! Go away!!! Stop it!!! How can your arm do that?!" And then they passed out and I had to run inside and revive them with the Heimlich maneuvre or something.

The front bed, replete with black mulch. Please ignore the weeds and dandelions visible to the right.

The bridal veil spirea is in full resplendant bloom. We are, at the moment, the envy of the neighbourhood. The next rain or slight wind, however, and we will once again be the black sheep.

As a matter of course, that tiny arm-jiggling episode made me then think of my loose ass folds, and how and when did my ass lose all its plumpness and "holdability" -- its vital unity -- and become one huge piece of stray material, hitting the backs of my legs as I walk. Even when I wear tightish jeans that you would think would hold the entire Body Of The Ass together, they don't. Because somehow, ass portions progressively leak out and again begin touching the backs of my legs.

My entire gardening day, which should have been a day of glee and happines, became a day of wonder and consternation, as I tried to figure out how my body fell apart in such a way. Everytime I moved to plant another flower, or move some soil from one area to another, I was reminded of my body's failings.

I then woke up Sunday feeling like a two-ton earth-moving machine had run over me about 317 times in a row. My muscles were sore, my sacrum screamed in pain, my patellas were swollen and my sacroiliac joints felt like they'd been jabbed by hot pokers all night long.

And then my son looked at my thigh, which happened to be exposed as I half lay on the couch, whimpering, and he said, "Look at that! What is that?!?!"

And I said, "What? What are you yelling about?"

And he said, "Your leg! Look at those lumps all over it when I squeeze. What is that?"

To which Mr. Handsome promptly replied, "Cellulite."

To which I should have said, "Umm, why the hell are you squeezing my thigh in the first place?", but to which I did not say anything, because in this house, these things pass as normal.

All of this to say that I think it's time I hit the gym, guys. Enough with the excuses. I am entering middle age, and I need to start worrying about my health a little more. Arthritis is what it is, and it limits me, for sure, but I know I can still go and do a modified work-out.

God knows what's going to fall next if I don't.

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By the way, today's a special day for one of my special friends. Say Happy Birthday to my buddy B! You know who you are, buddy old pal. He's old, way way older than me, and always will be. And I like to remind him of that on a very regular basis.

Yes, lunch is on me. Yes, you can have a beer. No, you cannot have dessert. I only have one hour, and not enough money.