Who the hell am I to judge?
I returned my shirts to the store today - the liquor commission has to get their precious shirts back, man. Those purple shirts with the lottery commission ad whored on the sleeve. I would wear them home in the wintertime but when the weather was warm, as soon as I got to my car I would strip those suckers off.
Don't be alarmed - I always wore a T-shirt underneath.
This brings back a memory. For a spell I worked in Waltham, MA while still living in Henniker, NH. A one and a half hour commute one way, baby.
I was driving a brand new Toyota Corolla at the time - the car was awesome but it had no AC. On really hot days, when I got to my car, I would take off my shirt and drive home bare chested. This was when my body was something to be proud of. I usually stopped for a cold six pack (yes I put my shirt back on - loosely) which I would consume on the ride home. (Hard stuff if it was a bad day.)
Man it felt so good sipping on a cold beer with the wind blowing across my chest.
Anyway, today was a beautiful day for a drive, baby - I was cruising and bruising, digging on the very tasty summer weather and smiling to and fro.
Had a good visit with the real people in the store - bit of a chat here, bit of a chat there - some laughs. Felt very very good to walk out as I pleased without my finger glued to a time clock.
Motoring on home, turned the corner at the T-Birds in Antrim and there was this enormous fat guy sitting on his lawn in one of those chairs you fold up and stick in your pocket. Couldn't believe it even supported the man.
He was dressed quite casually - no shirt, just shorts. He was sitting facing the traffic dead on, head on - no car could get by without looking right at him. He filled your windshield, your vision and your contempt.
Lots of exposed flesh, none of it toned.
I was immediately disgusted. I'm talking blubber city, baby. And pale white - ready to be scorched by the summer sun.
What the hell is this guy thinking - commuters coming around the corner after a hard day's work, tired, frustrated, distracted - a sight like that could shock you into veering off the road right into his miraculously muscular chair.
I am fat myself. Fifteen pounds overweight. I am trying man, really trying now that I got some time. Drop a pound here a pound there, maybe I can reclaim my body. Still I have vowed never again to remove my shirt in front of any other human being. Sometimes as luck and marriage would have it I occasionally have to de-shirt in front of Carol and even then I am embarrassed.
If I took my shirt off in a crowd, group vomiting would occur, of the projectile kind.
"Hey Jack - did you see that guy puke? Jesus Christ his vomit landed fifteen feet away. That was amazing."
This guy is comfortable in his own skin. He does not think he is sexy - he could not possibly believe that, right? I'm sure he is not sitting there expecting some hot chick to pull over and knock him to the ground and ravage him.
It is hot. He is fat. He is keeping it cool, kind of.
I believe my approach makes more sense, at least in the consideration of others arena, but if Fat Joe wants to let it all hang out, why not?
This world is a big, ugly, messy, unpredictable place. And warm weather is a precious commodity around here. It is practically a myth. If letting your fat hang out makes you feel good, I guess you might as well do it.
Still, you cannot control the reaction of the mind and the way it physically affects your body.
I am still trying to get my appetite back.
Maybe I won't eat so much tonight.