Do the Truffle Shuffle

I’m fat. I’m not just “pudgy” or “big-boned” or “preparing for winter”. I’m one of the millions of Americans with a weight problem. I’m kind of a closet fat person, though. I feel like I’m pretty good at hiding my obese tendencies. I’m not one of those “I-feel-bad-for-him-because-he-has-to-special-order-those-tapered-zebra-pants” fat people or one of the ones who can’t fit into the average sedan. I always have a plan to avoid embarrassment. I’m the guy who makes sure the group is late to the movie, so we have to sit at the front. That way I don’t have to take the stairs. I’m the kind who orders two meals at McDonald’s with two different drinks to trick the girl at the window into thinking I’m buying for two. (“Number 1 with a Diet Coke and a Number 3 with a... oh what did she want... oh yeah, a Sprite.”) I’m the kind who volunteers to get to the restaurant first and put our name in, so I can ask not to be seated at a booth. And then when we get seated I complain with everyone else about the table. (“I can’t believe we’re seated next to the bathroom. We should have asked for a booth.”) And most importantly, I don’t overeat in front of people. I’ll order a sandwich or the soup/salad combo at the restaurant. But then I’ll stop on the way home for some Chili Cheese Burritos at Taco Bell. No reason anyone needs to see that.

But, I’m not that guy who blames his weight on his metabolism or anything like that. I’m fat because I eat more than I should. And I eat foods that are delicious. For the most part I don’t really regret this. I’m generally happier than most people at least three times a day. And I don’t really have to deal with hunger. The only time it really bothered me to be fat was in school, when I couldn’t get a girl to like me. But now that I’m married, I can totally let myself go!

And sure, if I worked out four times a week and had a balanced diet, I would probably be a normal-sized, borderline attractive individual. I don’t know that for sure because I’ve never tried, but it seems logical, right?

But I’m not just fat. I’m lazy too. I don’t check the mail for weeks at a time because it involves putting shoes on. And I watch the replay of last year’s water polo championships for an hour because I don’t want to get up and find the remote. And my choice for a snack is always determined by how far down I have to stoop to reach into the fridge. (String cheese in the back? No sir. Sliced cheese in the door? You betcha!) Sometimes my laziness makes my wife mad, though. She got angry with me one time and was all like, “You’re so lazy! You never do ANYTHING around here. I’ve been asking you all afternoon to help me out.”

I didn’t even answer. I just laid there and pulled the sheets back over my head. Look, I don’t call in sick so I can stay home and do chores. I call in so I can stay in bed all day and play video games in my boxers.