Greetings faithful readers. I trust you all had a fun safe New Years eve and didn’t do anything you regret. Or if you did do something you regret that you at least had fun doing it before you came to regret it, AKA: “Mitch’s Let’s do $7.50 Shooters at the Strip Club Principle.”
A few days after New Years Eve Mitch was at his doctor’s for his quarterly lithium checkup. Banal story short, I got another 3 month supply of crazy pills that have the amusing side effect of making me pee like I got the bladder the same size as four year old Little Mitch’s. Then my doctor tore me a new one about my weight and blood pressure.
As I’m sure you know, a few months back I broke up with working out. In retrospect, probably not the best life choice but a few months of injuries, sickness and a lack of motivation jaded me on exercise. Now this is serious, my doctor was giving a stern warning about my health. At least I think he was my doctor he kept checking my testicles but never asked me to turn and cough and he gave me his phone number afterwards.
And honestly, Mitch hasn’t been feeling very sexy as of late. There is no sobering reality of how out of shape you are than living in a second floor condo with 5 flights of stairs and a full length ceiling to floor mirror directly outside your bathroom as you step out naked from a tub. Combine this with being sick for the past 6 weeks had me feeling like a disgusting flabby schlub. It was inescapable; Mitch needed to get his sexy back.
Step One: Exercise. The worst part about working out after a prolonged absence is the aching muscles, the burning lungs, the abdomen cramps; and that’s just from bending over to tie your running shoes. The upside is Mitch has a few years of exercise walking under his belt. So once I get going, the body remembers what to do and the pounds peel off pretty quickly. I’ve already dropped a few pounds. I must be looking better as I caught the homosexual gentleman on my commuter bus checking out the Mitch package as I stepped on the bus, followed by eye contact and a playful smile. Let me tell you, that brought back “The Mitch Swagger”, I should get him a thank you card.
Step Two: Find My Motivation. In the past when Mitch worked out, I would often quit after a few months because I never had a motivating factor. My overall health is too vague, blood pressure too vague, and I never had an ideal goal weight in my mind. I took some “Personal Mitch Contemplation Time” to come up with some external motivators, usually this involves a copy of Esquire magazine, 20 minutes on the porcelain Captain’s chair, and the hope that those bran bars are doing what they are supposed to do.
Motivating Factor One: Little Mitch. With the way my weight gain was going I was on the heart attack highway with an off ramp to diabetes county. I need to be there for Little Mitch. If I were to die who would be there to teach him important facets of contemporary masculinity? Such as the subtle kin-esthetic nuances of dropping a Macho Man flying elbow on your friends in the playground, why you never want to get involved with a woman who says “Who’s Bruce Springsteen?”, and why Sylvester Stallone is an under-appreciated thespian auteur genius.
That and the fact that Little Mitch asked me with the cutting brutal honesty only 4 year olds possess. “Daddy? You got boobies. Why don’t you wear a bra like mommy does?” Let me tell you, I was getting my running gear out of the closet with the vigour of a horny 16 year old boy on prom night with a drunk date after that question.
Motivating Factor Two: Look Good for My Hot Wife. After 15 years Mrs. Mitch still does it for me. In fact she’s gotten hotter than when we first met. In all fairness would it be fair for her to have to live with some fat, out of shape guy, who sweats while watching TV? Hell no, I want to look good for my smokin’ hot wife.
I definitely got in the ground floor of her hotness investment. We met when she was 17, she was pretty and always has been but in the past 15 years she has matured into a gorgeous, sexy, self assured woman who still finds my material funny, even when its not. I lucked out big time. So therefore it would only be fair that I reciprocate and look good for her.
Yesterday to feel good about ourselves Mrs. Mitch and I went on a clothes shopping date. As part of my New Years resolution to get my sexy back I have officially deferred all my fashion decisions to Mrs. Mitch. I figured who better to make me look good than than the woman who’s invested 15 years in me and still had sex with me when I was fat and out of shape?
There is no more soul crushing esteem killing endeavour than jeans shopping. The multitude of styles, cuts and shapes is a recipe for Hindenburg-esque self confidence catastrophe. If you ever want a real life definition of “ridiculous”, next time you’re jean shopping try on a trendy cut of jean that doesn’t suit your body shape. The resulting fashion train wreck is akin to a tube of lumpy squeeze cheese that was thrown in the microwave for 3 minutes and looks like its about to abscess.
No need to thank me, I’m an idea man, it’s what I do.