Lately, I seem to have developed a paunch (read protruding abdomen) that won’t go away no matter what I do.
Very gradually, the idea that I would age gracefully is debunking. I read this somewhere: “George Clooney, the only known living man to have aged gracefully, is an exception rather than the rule.” That statement is suddenly beginning to make a lot of sense. [break]
I consider myself to be fairly fit for my age. I managed to escape the “surprise bald attack” in my late twenties, stayed trim despite the binge drinking and eating all that chicken, thanks to the numerous sit-ups I may have done until then.
In fact, I clearly remember celebrating my 30th birthday at an office party last year drinking beer and downing tequilas until midnight, and more importantly, with a head full of hair.
Then about a month ago, I noticed biology had cheated on me.
I’d begun developing dark circles around my eyes, a midsection around my waist, and a few strands of white hair growing on the side of my head.
But it didn’t stop there. Soon enough, a few strands of hair began sprouting on my shoulders. And on my chest. The truth was out there. I had become a panda.
I had to act, and fast. Obviously, the clock is ticking. But I figure I have approximately five more years before my fart jokes and my “before after” (contraception of the stomach after a meal to indicate how much food one has eaten) stop being funny.
I also realize that, unlike Mandil Pradhan, I can’t live on a diet of boiled vegetables for six months – or God forbid! – or even more maybe.
Instead of the Kenneth Cole watches, I have now added a pair of “running shoes” to my “wish list” at harilo.com.
I’ve also noticed that at the office where I work, even though some of the women are pretty good-looking, I’ve developed a tendency to obsess about elder men with a lean figure and a taste for good clothes trying hard to fathom what they must be doing to remain so, and living with the obvious truth that I don’t have to lift my belly to reach my belt. Not just yet.
And then there’s George Clooney. Aging models such as these are a reminder that if I accept the realities and hit the gym instead of searching for “buy one and get one free” or “one size fits all” offers on Fridays, it’s within me to age with a shred of dignity. Nobody makes fun of a bald middle aged man with six packs.
If you don’t believe me, look at Jason Statham. And if everything else fails, there are always hair transplants and liposuctions. But I hear they are expensive.
Damn that, too!
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