Me legs aren’t beautiful.
I know that’s not an award-winning discovery, but it’s something you notice when you’ve been going to the gym as much as I have.
Some folks at the gym have really beautiful legs; I fall in the “other” category on that one.
It’s not that I’m vain about my looks or my legs. Trust me, I’m long past that when my hair packed its bags and decided to head for the drain.
And I know some of you reading may be thinking that its not “manly” to talk about legs not being beautiful. Well, guess what? I just spent 30 minutes on an eliptical, have confessed on this blog to not being the strongest guy on the weight bench, and I’ve described in detail how I hate the “ball crunch”, and yet have been doing them as regularly as someone who takes fiber for ball crunching.
In short: I’ve lost the ability to seem manly a while ago.
But the realization that I don’t have beautiful legs came crashing home to me the other day when I ripped my pants.
Yup. Every overweight person’s nightmare played out in the grocery store for all to see.
Now, in my defense, I was trying to hop a turnstile bar because, well, I’m 10 years old at heart. And although my vertical cleared it, I didn’t account for the crotch of my jeans who didn’t quite clear it.
Tear. Rip. Exposed upper thigh.
And not the cool kind of rip that happens when the Incredible Hulk gets mad or when Hulk Hogan is about to wrestle Randy Savage (may light perpetual shine upon him).
Nope, it was that loud tear that happens when everyone is looking at you as you tried to be cool and jump in front of the really slow lady with the cane because you were in a hurry and, darn it, Mountain Dew waits for no one!
Luckily I was bowing to social conformity that day and had on undergarments (you’re welcome nosy bagger!).
But, I guess that’s what you get when you work your legs out non-stop for two months. They’re just getting so muscular that my jeans couldn’t take it anymore.
That, or I need to start wearing a belt so that the crotch doesn’t sag.
Oh, and for those of you concerned, I did get my Mountain Dew.
Why?
Because I take Christina Aguilera seriously when she tells me I’m beautiful (including my legs), no matter what the obnoxiously skinny dude by the plant department was saying under his breath as he perused tulips (as if THAT’S manly…).
So, everybody mind their own business. Just a 31 year old dude in a baggy sweatshirt out to buy some olive oil, Mountain Dew, and some toothpaste.
In short: nothing to see here. Except ugly legs…
Living That Dad Life 