Prayers have been answered. Bikini season is almost over. The world is better off; at least in my zip code anyway.
Since 1990, to get ready for the beginning of the summer and the traumatic occasion, I have been on exercise bicycles that go nowhere and leave me spinning; inner journeys that lead to serenity but do not register on Google Earth or my GPS. I did jog once and thought I heard applause but it simply turned out to be my thighs hitting together. The clapping annoyed my neighbors so much they paid me to leave the neighborhood, thus turning flab into fortune; even enough to buy a Cronut®.
Wouldn’t it be grand if after every bit of exercising we could see the fat falling to the ground lying like a lump and then…we could observe the scene as the Flabinator came by to remove it and take it wherever excess blubber goes? By the way, where does it go?
I know where I’d like it to go. As an organ donor I am leaving my cellulite to Heidi Klum just so she gets to experience the joys of these love dimples. Till then I am keeping it in a warm place.