My Perfect Abs Suck

It’s vacation time.

As I write this, I’m in a Southwest capsule jetting at 35,000 feet and 500 miles an hour to Austin, for a brief stop, then onto Ft. Lauderdale.

Funny how I’m stopping off in one of the most conservative states in the country (Texas) to land in Ft. Lauderdale, one of the gayest playgrounds in the US.

But that’s not where vacation begins and ends. Because if it did, then my perfectly imperfect abs would suck. They’d have no place at a gay resort in Ft. Lauderdale. Well maybe at a gay bear resort. Lord knows they’d be a travesty at one of the “seen to be seen” resorts, so that’s why we’re (hubby and I) or touching down in Ft. Lauderdale and then onto Miami we’re my abs are going to feel even more out of place once we board the ship that will escort around the Southern Caribbean for the next 11 days.

Screw it. They’re my abs, and they go wherever I go, so, so be it. They’ll even accompany me through the great state of Texas, acting as my beard (look it up, it means cover) to hide my gayness. After all, a big strapping linebacker looking buy like me, with more than a baker’s dozen for a waistline, can’t be gay…right?

Wrong. But let’s get back to the abs.

Where we’re going, NCL Cruise, I may or may not need to be ashamed of my abs. I’ll wait until I enter the first buffet line to make that determination, as cruise ship buffets are where peoples true hunger colors come shining through. As they say, “You can bring the cruise passengers to the buffet, and you CAN make them eat, and eat, and eat, and eat! Once I know where I stand, then I will determine how ashamed I will need to feel on the pool deck with my shirt off and my abs hanging out.

Oh, that is so not true. I know where I stand with my abs!

I’ve strived to have those washboard abs. Especially in my past life when I use to have to wash my loincloth in the river. Just kidding. I have no idea what or if my past life even existed. In my present life, I want washboard abs. Mine suck.

Ironically, washboard abs are a pain in the ass. Or in the abdomen.

The pursuit of said abs, is painful and mentally straining. Except for those who possess the perfect metabolism that shreds every ounce of body fat without a sweat and their washboard abs appear. Bitches!

Not me. I’ve never even seen my abs even attempt to be washboard. My mind has pursued that endeavor, but not my body. Ok, maybe my body has, but then it realized, it sucks to be that obsessed with something that really, at least in my opinion doesn’t bring lasting fulfillment. I could be wrong, given that I’ve never had more than fluffy tummy.

Now that I’m fully tuned into to the reality TV show of my abs, Illusive Peaks of The Muscles Less Traveled, I realize that my lack of perfect abs, isn’t for trying, it’s for wanting without understanding the bigger picture, and no I’m not referring to the bigger picture of my wine belly.

My focus has been insanely misdirected. I pursued in the hopes of landing some hot guy, being admired in the gym as I lift my shirt so the world could see my ripples, and hungering for the gasp that would arise from the lips of my sexual conquest, the moment I take my shirt off.

Shame, shame, shame on me. None of that is going or has happened. I’m a fluffy guy and my abs will always be enveloped by a layer of FAT. Doesn’t mean I can’t work them, hone them and give it my best shot to slim my waist down. It simply means it’s time to stop pursuing the perfect Abs, and pursue the perfect abs for me.

It’s also time to quit saying my abs suck. My abs are simply a work in progress, as am I, as are you.

So stop beating yourself up with the words PERFECT and SUCK, and HUG yourself up and be thankful you’ve got abs somewhere under there, wrapping around your abdominal cavity holding all your vital organs in place.

Now that’s something to be PERFECTLY thankful for.

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