08 December, 2008

Dying, A Little Piece At A Time

Ugh, I've been so lucky to own a motorcycle for the last few months. It affords such amazing parking opportunities here on campus. Despite living in Utah, the weather has been exceptionally mild and has allowed me the opportunity to ride in comfort right up into the first week of December. The Greatest Snow On Earth? More like down right mild and fabulous.
So today, as it was supposed to snow, (which it has) I decided to drive and find myself a parking spot one way or another. After about 20 minutes of driving round and round, I gave up and parked on the opposite side of campus next to Baskin Robbins. Let's just say its a satellite parking lot that should require a shuttle service to and fro. But I parked there, in the back, and looked to the bright side:
"I'm clinically obese and a little exercise will do me good," I asserted. "I should consider myself lucky and choose to walk this far every day!"
But I wasn't used to it. The walking that is. My legs were atrophied and fat, glucose and plaque slowing the much needed oxygen my muscles needed. As I crested the stairs after exiting my secret elevator shortcut, I felt a funky itch that permeated my legs. It started out splotchy, showing up here and there over a few small surfaces on my stubby legs. But as the distance grew and I neared my classroom, I felt like I had contracted a fresh brew of genital herpes... but on my legs. The itch was intense and the tingle unrelenting. If I wore shorts often and had some semblance of a social life, I might have been concerned at the possibility that I brushed up too close to someone on public transport or at a raging techno party.
But I don't ride public transport.
And I don't go to parties.
It, I deduced, was fatness attacking the last small ray of dignity I have left in life: my ability to heft my body by my own power. This herpes-like itch is no doubt the precursor to the eventuality that I will spend my life in an Apple Red Jazzy Scooter like my grandmother's. The types of motorized chairs you see buzzing down the sidewalk with a thyroid-conditioned potato sack of a woman spilling out as the chair wheezes to carry her home. Just enough room for crunchy peanut butter and a family pack of Twinkies, her front mounted basket relishes being the only part of her scooter not weighed down to the point of exhaustion.
This is me. This is what I am becoming.
So if you feel the unfamiliar itch of what might be a sexually transmitted disease on your legs, get tested, because it could be that you're just getting fat like me.


jen said...

HA HA HA HA HA!!! I can honestly SEE this all in my mind as I read, down to your facial expressions!

Becky said...

You are so funny. I could hardly read your post to Nate because I was laughing so hard. Good luck your uh, er, condition.

Sara said...

You know, you can completely skip any and all stairs by using the Tanner Bldg elevator. :)

somebody said...