After taking my shower, I stepped out of the tub and stood before my mirror. As I looked, suddenly my butt fell down. Now, what are the odds of being before a mirror when gravity takes hold and yanks you down?
But there you have it. My hands flew behind me to keep it from sliding any further down to no avail. Following that momentous occasion, my belly followed suit and here I stood with a tire around my midriff lamenting my years of exercise.
So, in the end, after all the exercising and all the yoga and what not, I am still going to look like a wrinkle on the face of time, on the nasty paint job or on the rhinoceros hide. Any which way you slice it, my blubber will fall down, way south to warmer spreads around my thighs.
After my husband assured me that he still loved me even with the southern migrating tendencies of my flesh, he encouraged me; to go to the gym longer hours and spend more time on the yoga mat.
Recovering and feeling better after hitting him with a frying pan, I proceeded to devise a full scale war on gravity. Spending hours upside down, convincing my body that gravity could go the other way. Paying hundreds on control top underwear holding up my saggy flesh. Placing a belt around my midsection, keeping the tire above thigh level. All for nothing.
All three weeks, nothing. So, never mind. I returned to normal, enjoying my food, drink and life remembering, that even though my skin is heading south, it has not taken me down under. I am still here alive and happy.