Pot Bellied Positives

Every day when I stumble to the bathroom for my morning routine, I end up scowling in the mirror at what I see. Now, if I were thirty years younger, famous and living in Hollywood, I’d make front page news on the scandal sheets with my noticeable “baby bump.” Problem is, I’m passed 50, nowhere close to famous, and my “baby bump” is merely a postmenopausal pot belly.

This unwanted protrusion motivates me to shop with extra care, ever searching for ways to disguise it through careful clothing choices, scrutinizing how each piece hangs on my body.

Every glance in the mirror reminds me of this major flaw I possess in a society mad for flat abs. I feel the stares of others and sense their rolling eyes as they smugly tuck in their own oh-so-firm abs.

After three years of battling my aversion with weight loss attempts, I am determined to correct my attitude—once and for all. I decide Google search my predicament. I type “pot belly” in the search box (don’t forget the quote marks — very important), and up pop four choices:

First result: Pot Bellied People. Yech. This is just what I’m trying to escape! Quickly I move on to…

Second result: Pot Bellied Pigs. Carefully I research all the positive data. These pigs are intelligent and playful. That’s good. They’re also odor free and generally non-allergenic. Hmm. Interesting. But, do I really want to align myself with the porcine population? I forge on to…

Third result: Pot Bellied Stoves. Ah, Americana at its best. That useful, practical, heart- and-butt-warming American fixture of yesteryear. But do I want to be associated with antiques? In desperation I turn to…

Fourth result: Pot Belly Song by Freshlyground. I click on the YouTube link. The lead singer croons, Fat thighs, flabby arms. A pot belly still gives good loving. Oh yes! I have found my theme song. I watch the video over and over again.

This morning as I staggered to the bathroom and caught my reflection in the accusing mirror, my face scrunched up in familiar disgust—until I remembered the Pot Belly Song. A smile chased the frown from my face while I hummed the words; “Fat thighs, flabby arms. A pot belly still gives good loving.” Yep. I thank God for this brave, young band that has adjusted my attitude—permanently.

published on epiffunnies.com 7/09