Naked keester causes treadmill incident

Dear Faithful Readers (both of you),

I feel as though I’ve been neglecting you recently. I’m sorry. I do have a good excuse. It appears I may have damaged my dumbass, er rather my dermas layer of my skin, the skin on my shin to be specific. You may be wondering how a boo-boo on my shin affects my typing skills. Good question. The answer -- I find it difficult to focus on typing when I am preoccupied with whining.

Here’s my story. One fateful day about a month ago, I took a good long look at my naked keester in the mirror. It wasn’t pretty. Remembering our long forgotten treadmill, I decided to immediately do something about my sagging birthday suit. I put on my tennis shoes, cleared the crap off the treadmill and hopped on. For about three minutes it was all good.

And then it happened. In an overzealous moment I decided to increase the aerobic workout by swinging my arms. To allow room for my gorilla arms, I stepped back … and stepped right off the treadmill. The good news is I landed on my keester. The bad news is I skinned the begeezies out of my shin.

After unsuccessfully dealing with my boo-boo for several weeks, I decided it was time for medical intervention. The nurse became quite flustered when I removed my Dora-the Explorer band-aid. She immediately went pale and started talking tetnus.

By the time Doc came in, it was obvious he had been briefed. Without actually examining my boo-boo (unless you count a glance while standing in the doorway) he said, “It appears you have damaged your dumbass, er rather your dermas layer.” He went on to tell me to “butter” the wound with this goopy white stuff and comeback in two weeks.

So you see, with all this shin drama going on, there’s no way I could be expected to type. I’ll do better from here on. Any of you have treadmill wisdom you’d be willing to share?

Stuck in my pants

For the record, I agree it’s a good idea to keep your pants on at work. I work in a fairly conservative place, and, although I’ve never read the dress code for dummies section of our employee handbook, I’m betting keep-your-pants-on is rule number two. Rule number one is you must wear undies, appropriate undies. Not sure what appropriate means, but I’m thankful not to be the undies enforcer. I think rule number three has to do with hairy toes and cleavage.

On a day-to-day basis, I happily keep my pants on at the office. But there’s a difference between happily keeping your pants on and being stuck. Did I mention I drink two 1 liter over-priced Figi waters a day?

Since drinking all that water has not shrunk my keester a single inch, I am devoted to my black pants. All women know there’s no color like black to make your jumbo butt look like a petite size 2. To my dismay, the only thing actually petite about me is my cleavage, and I'm not allowed to show that. See rule number three.

I tend to wear the same non-petite pair of black pants day-after-day, week-after-week, month-after-month, year-after-year, and decade-after-decade. You get the idea. You can only imagine how many wash cycles they have endured.

Apparently, one too many…

How do you win an argument with a zipper that’s NOT budging when you desperately have to pee?

Please don't make me wear a headgear!

I admit it. I'm a two-timer. This is my second round as a metal-mouth. My first was back-in-the-day when braces were strictly in the realm of angsty teens. Now they're more like an adult status symbol. But status does have it's price.

I'm never sure whether I should grin broadly and display my extensive metalwork, or should I opt for the closed mouth grin and look like a constipated mime. I generally go for a quickie grin followed by a fake cough requiring me to cover my mouth . . . smooth.

And then there's food. Food and I go way back, but suddenly food comes with challenges beyond calories. The good news is I lost a quick 15 pounds my first month as a zipper-mouth. The bad news is, by the third month, I gained back thirty. And all that healthy green stuff I tried so hard to choke down several times a day-- no more. The way I see it, it's less gross if I have rice stuck in my braces than broccoli. I think my co-workers appreciate my thoughtfulness.

And then there's the Miss Manners question. When I find myself in conversation with someone who knows me -- but doesn't know about my braces -- should I make it easy and make a "braces reference" or should I let them squirm and pretend not to notice?

Adult braces should come with a primer. Any braces-wearing tips will be greatly appreciated. I can't be the only one who thinks Life Needs A Primer.