by Steve Liddick
For many years I had been overweight. Women had not looked lustfully at me since—well—they’ve never really looked at me lustfully, but that’s a whole other story.
Let me just say that my particular poundage piled on for the most part as a protuberant pot belly. Potbellies is a trait that runs in my family. Even the men have them.
I suppose if you look hard enough you can find an advantage in any physical disability or deformity. I’m sure the hard of hearing enjoy being able to turn off their hearing aids to shut out a screaming child. Extra tall people can reach high shelves. Of course, there’s a down side to both conditions. The hard of hearing can’t fully enjoy music. The tall have to duck at doorways.
The chronically fat have their own set of problems. One of them is that we don’t like to be called ‘fat,’ preferring instead to be referred to as heavy-set—or portly. Better still, just refer to them by name.
Formation of a pot belly may be Mother Nature’s way of keeping a person farther from the dinner table to keep it from growing even larger.
I do not prefer taking my meals in the dining room. I’m a casual diner. I think it may be rebelling against my mother’s edict about not taking food into the living room, my personal favorite dining spot. My lounge chair is a place where a pot belly comes in handy as a kind of shelf for my plate. I could sit there with a book in one hand and a fork in the other, with my plate secure and in no danger of falling off its shelf.
But one day I concluded that a bay window was not only unattractive, it was also unhealthy. You hear stories about heart problems and diabetes linked to overweight. Just taking a walk was exhausting. My wife and I sometimes took walks. She likes to walk and talk, but I told her I could do one or the other—but not both.
I decided to get rid of the tummy. I applied my iron will to the project and over most of the next year I slimmed down by sixty pounds. I have nieces and nephews who don’t weigh as much as I lost.
To be honest, women still don’t look at me lustfully. But I no longer open a door by turning the knob and bumping it with my stomach.
The only disadvantage I can think of is that when I have my lunch at my lounge chair, the plate keeps sliding down onto my lap.