Wow – I Can Now Burn Bridges!

"Don't burn your bridges."

That’s an often-quoted rule of life. Of course, it’s not actually about igniting a steel bridge over a highway. The expression was derived from ancient armies burning the olden wooden bridges of yore. Supposedly, some marauding armies were so confident of their invincibility that they burned cities and everything around them. However, when these armies were forced to retreat quickly, they couldn’t cross the river because they had burned the bridges.

Yes, that was stupid, but these were warriors with elevated testosterone who loved to burn things. Apparently, these ill-advised bridge-burning incidents happened so frequently that the bridge-burning quote became an axiom that remains familiar to this day.  

Today, this adage warns that when you have been mistreated and are angry, don’t end a relationship, partnership, employment, agreement, contract, association, etc., by saying or doing anything that will fizz someone off and permanently end that relationship. Because in the future, you may need that person's help, relationship, money, employment, etc. It is wise advice that should be followed – up to a point. More on this later. 

 

You First Have To Learn

“Don’t burn your bridges” is a rule of life, but it doesn’t come naturally and, like most things, must be learned. When you are younger, you don’t hesitate to take a flamethrower to people who have wronged you. You are naïve and oblivious to the consequences, and there are so many bridges available to burn.

However, there comes that day when you must recross one of those burnt bridges, which costs you. Over time, perhaps in your 20s, the wise person learns not to do this. The fool may continue to burn bridges their entire life and wonder why things don’t turn out well for them.

Fortunately, I learned not to burn bridges while still in college. I had decided to leave a campus organization because of the horrid leadership, which caused unbearable working conditions. I left to join a competing organization that had formed due to the toxic conditions at the first place. While at the new organization, I wrote a satirical newspaper article that poked fun at the other organization.

Of course, the new organization folded after a few months, so the logical course of action was to return to the original organization because it would mutually benefit both parties. I requested a meeting to discuss my return. I expected the person (who people still refer to as an a$$hole 40+ years later) to chastise my behavior and possibly take minimal responsibility for what had transpired. I would then sincerely apologize for my actions, and we would shake hands, make up, and get on with life.

I enter his office, and he closes the door. I make some introductory positive comments. He quickly reaches into his desk drawer, grabs the article I had written, and begins to read it aloud angrily. With him still reading, I get up and leave, and I have never spoken to him since.

Now, he did want me back with his organization, but he made a big error because he expected me to beg for it. The problem is, I don’t beg. This is not a virtue, or even a macho thing. There are certain life skills you do not develop as an only child, and begging is one of them. Begging is even beneficial in certain circumstances, such as if someone sticks a gun to your head and wants you to beg for your life. If this ever happened to me, at my funeral, people would have asked, “I wonder why the guy shot Don in the head four times and let the other hostages go free?” Well, begging isn’t one of my skills, but sarcasm certainly is.

 

Then Things Change

Once you learn this lesson, typically by burning a bridge you later need, you go through the middle stages of your life, careful not to permanently damage these relationships. However, this is a tradeoff because nothing in this life comes without a price.

You want to burn a bridge because a person or organization has treated you so awfully over an extended period that you have anger built up that you so want to express when the relationship comes to an end. But you don’t in order to preserve that bridge.

This means you let people abuse you with no consequences. If you must return to that relationship, that abuse will undoubtedly resume. The price for not burning the bridge is taking a lot of $h!t from horrible, deranged people.

Life is one giant tradeoff. You are willing to maintain those bridges just in case, by accepting and not responding to bad behavior. Life is tough, isn't it?

Looking back at my life and career, there are times I should have pushed back hard at people for their unacceptable behavior towards me. Of course, now I know what few bridges were worth maintaining and which could have been burned without consequence.

 

And Now Things Change Again

Now that I am a M.O.A.C.A. (Man Of A Certain Age), my bridge-burning perspective has changed once again. Recently, an organization treated me horribly, which impacted not only me but also the group of fine people I have the privilege to lead. These bassturds expected me to just accept their $h!t and go away quietly, and that's precisely what I would have done even a few years ago.

 

So, how to respond today to this awful behavior? Ahh, there is a new perspective. I reasoned that I would never need this particular bridge again, and on the slight chance that I might, I just do not care. If this action costs me the rest of my life, that won’t be such a long time now. Once that calculation was clear, I grabbed that flame thrower I had not used since my younger days and torched that bridge into ashes. I consider it giving a lesson from an older, wiser man (A M.O.A.C.A.) to some clueless youngins’ who clearly don’t know the proper way to treat people. And it did feel good because M.O.A.C.A.s are more cranky – not grumpy - than in their younger days. I suppose there will be more bridge burning in the future. So be warned.

 

And when you are old enough not to care ….

 

I Shall Not Cross This Bridge Again

I shall not cross this bridge but once; any harm or evil thrown my way by any human being; let me not accept nor ignore it. Let me torch that plank to ashes, for I shall not cross this bridge again.

Don’s Tips For A Long Marriage

Welcome to Don’s Tips For A Long Marriage. This advice is intended to keep husbands out of the proverbial doghouse and extend the length of your marriage. Following this advice may also preserve your life and help you remain intact—in case you married a psycho or a Loreena Bobbit devotee.

This wisdom was acquired during over 40 years of marriage. Of course, I was naive enough not to know about it as a young man. Now, I pass it on to newlyweds, young guys, and longer-married Neanderthals who, unfortunately, repeatedly make the same mistakes.

This is only a partial list, but it popped into my head during a recent breakfast meeting with my long-time friend Kurt. Women are advised not to read any further, lest my secrets, intended for just men, will be revealed.  

 

Tip #1 – Never Say What You Are Thinking

I know this is counter-intuitive. Your brain creates a thought, and your mouth speaks it. In the first years of marriage, I would blurt out whatever popped into my man-brain. I was perplexed when these pearls of wisdom often inflamed my wife.

Over time, I learned to say only some of what I was thinking, picking my spots carefully and injecting my wisdom strategically. This resulted in my wife becoming enraged much less often. To say it in a way, guys understand: Less Speaking = Less Enragement = More ….. (well, you guys get it).

Now, in late middle age, I have become more like one of those independent U.N. observers. I stand back and observe the various crises about to or already happening and say virtually nothing. I only speak when absolutely necessary. I am often asked for my input only after the train wrecks, and like the U.N., I am often asked for funds to clean up the disaster.

Therefore, if you haven’t reached the age to naturally learn this, or maybe you have had trouble maintaining relationships your entire life, employ what I will call “the wife/girlfriend filter”. Simply: THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK. When that thought naturally pops into your head – don’t immediately say it out loud.

We will use the “wife/girlfriend filter” to communicate the substance of that thought into a softer, more female-friendly form. In other words, we will use something called “nuance”.

I know that “nuance” is a foreign concept to many guys, so here is a definition: a subtle difference or distinction in expression, meaning, response, etc. (Dictionary.com)

So, you will communicate the same meaning as your original thought, but do it in a way that only gets your wife half as upset with you as usual. Only half as upset! It’s a win-win!

For example:

Original thought, said out loud: Your friend Becky is such a bitch! Why do you like her, anyway?

Nuanced statement: Sometimes, Becky just seems a bit off. Is she having some personal issues?

You will definitely need to work on this, but the benefits are substantial. It will lengthen your marriage and get you more of that other stuff.

Tip #2 – Never Say “I Told You So”

You had a previous discussion, debate, or argument with your wife. Now, things have gone terribly wrong because your wife chose to disregard your opinion. If this discussion was with another guy, it is totally acceptable to declare, “I told you so!” This shows your superior intelligence and that you have ultimately won the argument. The other guy will admit defeat, and then you will go on with life or proceed to the next debate with no lasting animosity, because this is what guys do.

However, you should never say “I told you so” to your wife.” At this point, your wife feels terrible that the situation is awful. If you say, “I told you so”, all she is going to do is feel worse – and channel all of the bad feelings – even for those things you had nothing to do with, back upon you. That's right – you are going to get hit with everything regarding this mess – even though if she had listened to you, there would be no mess.

What your wife needs from you now is compassion. So. instead of spiking the football in your victory, try your hardest to make her feel better in the moment. Trust me, you don’t have to remind her what you said because the female brain has recorded every impactful conversation over the past ten years that can be retrieved at a moment's notice to put the blame on you for just about anything. She remembers what you said, and that you were right, but will react with hostility if you remind her. Think of it as the “bitch button”. Would you intentionally push the bitch button? No, you would not.

So revel in your victory. Celebrate your so-called superior intelligence on this matter. But do it quietly and internally. Look concerned and somber on the outside, while your man-brain does an elaborate touchdown dance. If you do need an external outlet, wait and tell the guys at work about it.

 

Tip #3 – Apologize For Being Right

Sometimes, when your insensitive comments or smirking expression enrage your wife, you will not only receive the wrath of everything that has happened but actually be blamed for the outcome. Even if you had nothing to do with the result.

This is an odd situation, indeed. You advised her to take Action A, and she ignored it and did Action B against your wishes. Now, there is a disaster, and somehow, you are being held responsible for the whole mess when you were right in the first place.

You can try to reason with her, but at this point, she is so upset that reason won't work. If you try arguing with her, but that will only enrage her more and worsen the situation.

In this case, the best course of action is to “apologize for being right”. I know this is extremely counter intuitive to your man-brain. Your natural tendency is to say, “I’m right, and you're wrong. Next time, you should really listen to me!” This may be true, but it is irrelevant. You have an angry, emotional wife on your hands, which you need to comfort.

Therefore, you should apologize for being right. The trick here is to be as ambiguous as you possibly can. Do not apologize for anything specific. Something like, “Honey, I’m so sorry things turned out the way they did. I should have done more, and I could have handled this thing a whole lot better. Please forgive me.”

See, you haven’t really admitted to anything – and she’s lapping it up and melting as a result. If you follow these marriage tips, your marriage will last a long time. And you will ultimately be much happier.

 

 

 

 

My Genes Are Recessive But Rather Aggressive

My daughter recently gave birth to her second child. And unlike the first time, I am willing, uh, find it necessary, and resolved to admit that, yes, I am a grandfather. Three years ago, I was hesitant to use that term because I thought of grandfathers as retired, dithering coots who watch Matlock reruns and feed the squirrels at the park. Well, I am now retired, and I do feed squirrels, albeit at my house. So yes, I guess, I am the girl’s grandfather.

More importantly, I now have three years of experience as a grandfather, although I don’t allow the rugrat to use the G-word; he calls me “Pops”. And we get along great because he apparently got a large hit of my DNA.

My mother-in-law, the boy’s great-grandmother, loudly laments: "Grandchildren are supposed to be a mixture of everybody, but not this one! He's just all Donald Ake".  

Hey!  I can hear you! I’m standing right here.

However, I cannot dispute her observation. The kid looks like me, acts like me, and even laughs like me.

This doesn’t please me as much as you might think. There is a reason that God gave me two daughters and no sons. The universe does not need any more of my testosterone-fueled DNA running around. I was a terror as a child, and my wife was spared from having to raise one, let alone, two terrorists. To illustrate …

 

Two of my mom’s favorite stories about me:

One evening, soon after they put me in my crib for the night, I bounded into the front room. My parents were alarmed that somehow, at my young age, I had managed to scale the high crib wall and reach the floor without injury. They went to my room and feverishly worked for half an hour, securing the crib so I could not escape again. Mind you, my father was a mechanical genius, so at that point, the crib was deemed escape-proof, and I was put back to bed.

My parents returned to the living room, exhausted from the task. They had barely caught their breath when I casually reappeared. “Think you can keep me in that crib? – Here. Hold my bottle.” That was the last night I slept in that crib.

Story # 2 – I enjoyed escaping captivity and running wild. This caused significant problems for my mother anytime she took me out of the house. I would bolt away without warning. One time, we were at my grandparents' house, and she made sure all the doors were locked and secured. However, moments later, she looked out the front window and saw me running full speed across the street and down the alley. She had to run like mad to finally catch me, and she was not an athletic woman.

I was so uncontrollable my parents installed a chain lock on the outside of my door to keep me inside my room when I misbehaved. I remember hating to be locked in and screaming while pushing hard against the door.

 

Recessive Genes

It is odd that my grandson would mirror me so closely because I carry recessive genes. My family is made up of short people on both sides. My dad was 5'7"; somehow, I ended up almost 6’4”. Recessive genes should show up every hundred years or so, similar to me showing up to help out in the kitchen. My detractors, and even some of my friends, will tell you that it is a good thing my genes are recessive because we don't want many people like me on the loose.

 

A Brand New Start?                                                           

With the birth of the second child, a girl, there is renewed hope now. The family is joyously optimistic that she will inherit the outstanding traits of the rest of the family and that my genes will indeed be recessive and retreat to the outer limits of the universe, not showing up again until maybe 2084, when I will be long gone, and the damage to society is minimized.

They named her Avery. When I heard this name was under consideration, I lobbied very hard for her name to be Akery. I mean, c’mon man! It’s just one freakin’ letter different! Would that have been so difficult?

The hope is that Avery will be a normal, reserved, pleasant child, totally different, and better than her grandfather. So, here’s what we know about baby Avery so far:

-       -  People say she looks like her brother. But if her brother looks like me, then by logic …. Ah, let’s forget this one and try to find something more positive.

- She is a very long and skinny baby – a unique shape for a newborn. When my daughter said the phrase "long, skinny baby," it triggered something deep in my memory. I had heard that specific term repeatedly when I was a kid. Ah, yes, my mother spoke of this unusually long, skinny baby she had birthed – did I mention I’m an only child?

-       - She has huge hands – I can palm a basketball. 

-       - She has long, skinny feet. “Long, skinny feet” is another term I had not heard in decades. Again, I can remember my mother disparagingly using the term as we drove around the city searching for dress shoes in size 13 – narrow. We were lucky when we found the only store that sold them. (Akron/Canton peeps, can you find the pun in the previous sentence?)

Well, the family is so happy with baby Avery and optimistic about her future that I’m not going to darken the mood and reveal any of this. I’m hoping that the early indications are incorrect and she grows out of it or maybe gains more weight in her feet, or whatever. Furthermore, we hope her personality reflects everyone else in the family and is nothing like mine. Because no one deserves two children with my disposition. My parents didn’t even want that – that’s why they stopped at one.

It seems when it comes to grandchildren – my genes are recessive but very aggressive.

Smelly Solutions For A Stinky Problem

There it was once again—the pungent, thick, almost toxic cloud of cheap perfume. It penetrated my lungs, and for a split second, I thought I might faint. Surprisingly, the noxious odor was encountered in a spacious atrium of a basketball arena, which made me wonder if the cologne had been applied with a paintbrush. 

Stupid old lady, I thought. Yes, throughout your life, you consider your age to be the smartest age there is. People younger than you are obviously stupider because they have yet to gain the knowledge you have. People older than you are dumb because they do weird, irrational stuff that you would never think of doing.

Yes, you think that older people are weird until you reach that age and find yourself mysteriously adopting behaviors that you ridiculed ten years earlier. These "aha" moments occur all throughout our lives. Still, strangely, we don't learn from them and thus keep thinking that older people are peculiar.

My best personal example is how much I resented my mother seeking to interfere in my adult life. It didn't matter that I was a business professional with a graduate degree; she thought she knew the best course for me and would strongly voice her opinion on every decision I made.

After this happened, I would be enraged (but only internally). On the way home, I would think: WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH HER? I am an adult, fully capable of making my own decisions and figuring out what to do. Why would she think she has any right to interfere? 

I responded to these impositions by withholding information from her, only telling her what she really needed to know. Her intrusions only stopped after she suffered a heart attack and knew her life was winding down.

However, I am embarrassed to say that my desire to interfere in the lives of my two daughters actually exceeds that of my mother dealing with me. Of course, my daughters respond to this behavior by telling me virtually nothing when important stuff happens in their lives. I only find out the details months after the fact, and then I think:

Oh, if I would have known that was happening, I would have ….. And then I understand why I was kept in the dark – wise women they are. Of course, I blame my behavior on my mother – it's in my DNA, so I can’t help myself, even though I know it’s wrong.

Now, Back to the Pungent Old Lady

The encounter with the perfume cloud was still fresh in my mind, or still stuck in my nostrils, when I saw an Internet headline for what turned out to be a deeply disturbing article. The piece was about why older people stink. From here on, I will refer to this phenomenon as OPS (Old People Stink).

I had always thought that OPS was caused by poor hygiene habits combined with reduced olfactory sense. While this can be true, the article explained that primary OPS results from something else. Our body chemistry changes throughout our lifetime. When we are born, the chemistry is new and fresh, giving us that ‘sweet baby smell’. But after that, our scent deteriorates over our lifetime until we smell so bad that they bury us six feet underground or burn our bodies. The good news is that the change in body chemistry is only nasty once we reach our golden years, thus producing OPS.

But the bad news is horrible. As I read the article, I made a mental note that I will eventually need to shower more to wash off this OPS. But unfortunately, that won't help. Because the odor is not on your skin; it emanates from the chemistry within your body. If this were a hygiene horror movie, the heroine would scream, “IT’S COMING FROM INSIDE MY BODY. THE TERRIBLE ODOR IS INSIDE THE BODY!

OPS is further enhanced because senior citizens tend to be dormant and spend more time huddled up in their homes. The stench can be overwhelming when a group of golden-agers is stuck in one place, such as a nursing facility.

Therefore, our over-scented old woman is not stupid. She is an intelligent person who still has enough of her olfactory capacity to know she smells bad and is trying to mask it. You don’t have as many older men over-cologning because they don’t know they stink and thus don’t try to hide it.

However, dousing yourself in strong perfume is not a good solution to the problem. A guy on a local message board complained that his wife suffers from asthma attacks and migraines when exposed to women bathed in “old whore” perfume. Many people then commented about being sickened by “White Diamonds” and other fragrances over-applied by senior gals.

I can’t believe that our country just accepts OPS, and no one sees this as a real problem. Only one Japanese company is working on a solution that uses green tea to try to mask the emissions. There is a mountain of money to be made if some pharmaceutical comes up with a cure:

“I used to stink so badly that no one, not even my family, would visit me. But now I take Noreeka, and everybody wants to get close to grandma! And now the guys at the senior center all want hugs  – hubba, hubba! Ask your doctor if Noreeka is right for you.’

Somebody needs to do something soon because as the baby boomers enter into the high-stink years and live longer, we have not seen the peak of OTS. At some point there could be a giant OPS cloud terrorizing people across the country. I would hate for our body odor to destroy our nation:

“Today is day eight of the Old Person Stink alert. OPS levels are in the Red Zone – No one should leave their homes …..”

 

 

I’m So Not Jealous of Taylor Swift’s New Beau

All my inboxes and message boards have blown up the past few weeks asking if I am jealous of the Taylor Swift - Travis Kelce relationship. Apparently, people believe I am obsessed with Taylor Swift just because I have blogged about dating her and wrote a story that appears in a recent book describing our future marriage.

So, I will address the issue here: I am not jealous at all. I really am not jealous. No jealousy here. Definitely, and totally, not jealous. If she values muscles and athletic ability over someone who has written, yes, written four books, then that’s her insipid, shallow choice. But I’m not jealous one bit.  

Why The Relationship Is Such A Big Deal

The Swift-Kelce hook-up is similar to the high school quarterback dating the head cheerleader. The interest in this relationship is immense because this high school now has millions of ‘students’. However, the curiosity and impact are much more intense because athletes and rock stars are the gods of our age. So, we have a god hooking up with a goddess – this is real-life mythology. (Hey, I just created an oxymoron!)

An Interesting Story about the Taylor Swift Blog Post

Shortly after my post in May 2013, "I Dated Tyler Swift and She Wrote A Song About Me", I was at a networking meeting yucking it up with several friends who had read the post and were ribbing me about it. Suddenly, the Asian lady seated next to me, who had been talking with another person, spun around and exclaimed, “You dated Taylor Swift? !!!!” It is the greatest off-hand compliment anyone has ever paid me. The woman, newly emigrated to this country, actually thought I had dated Taylor Swift.

Does Travis Kelce Play Better With Taylor at the Stadium?

People seem intrigued by the statistics showing Kelce performs better when Swift attends the game. People consider it a humorous coincidence or that Taylor is a good luck charm.

However, this is a natural occurrence and not a coincidence. I contend that males are biologically wired to up their game when their love interest is present. I call it the “Girlfriend In The Stands Effect” or GFITSE. I'm not a physiologist or psychologist, but believe it or not, I have personal experience with this.

My Catch For My Catch

I had been dating my future wife for only a few months when I brought her to my softball game for the first time. I wasn't nervous at all about how I would play that evening, but I was highly anxious about how she would get along with the wives and girlfriends of my teammates. This event was her first exposure to this group of friends, and I wanted it to go well.

In this game, I was playing what is called 'short-center field’ (In softball, there are four outfielders). In the bottom of the first inning, the first two batters made easy outs. Then, up to the plate strode the best hitter in the league. His smooth, powerful swing produced scalding line drives all over the field.

I was on high alert as I positioned myself between second base and our shortstop, about 20 feet behind the infield. The second pitch was flat and on the inside corner, and I instinctively began moving to my right as the batter prepared to swing.

He blistered a hard line drive that cleared the shortstop by at least ten feet before the topspin violently drove the ball downward. I took four or five steps and lunged for the ball, fully extending my 6’3” frame. It was hit to my backhand, so I couldn’t look the ball into my glove, but I felt the ball smack hard and securely into the webbing.

That was fortunate because the force of the dive and the impact of the drive drove my head into the ground. I rolled over several times before holding up my glove. All our fans, except one (more on that later), cheered wildly at the sensational catch. My teammates pulled me up and guided me back to our bench, as I was somewhat dizzy due to the head thump.

The batter looked at me in disbelief as he took his position in the field. This is by far the most exceptional play I have ever performed in an athletic contest. Now, maybe it was just a coincidence this happened the first time my future wife saw me play, but I seriously doubt it. And Leroy Jethro Gibbs would concur.

Ironically, this catch did cause some controversy. My girlfriend had not cheered when I made the catch. The other women in the bleachers had taken notice, and I was informed discretely about this faux pas after the game. They thought she didn’t cheer because she was ignorant about softball. She claims she was concerned for my health when my head hit the ground. I just think she holds me to a higher standard, which continues to this day – “You’re supposed to catch the ball, and you caught the ball. What’s the big deal?”

What Happens Next?

Kelce performs like a typical male when Taylor is present, and these days, I applaud him for that. You have to admit, they make a cute couple.

But we know from high school and modern life that high-profile romances seldom last, and many end poorly. Many people are following this situation, hoping to see a train wreck.

And when this does end, I just wasn’t to say, “Taylor, I’m still here for you. I’m still here, Honey.

 

The Last Big Diet, Part 2 - Hot Blonde Motivation

 Because the first post about ‘My Last Big Diet’ generated so many questions, Ferd DeBerg from TMZZ interviewed me: 

Ferd: Don, our investigation has revealed that you have hired someone to help you lose weight. Do you confirm or deny? 

Me: Investigation? Well, yes, I am using a nutritionist, and she has been great. 

Ferd: A nutritionist? You? You expect us to believe you are taking advice from someone about your food! That’s almost laughable. 

Me: Babette is a professional, and she has been very beneficial. 

Ferd: Ah, yes, beneficial! Let’s talk about that Babette. Is it not true that your so-called nutritionist is a young, hot blonde? Confirm or deny? 

Me: Come on! Babette is a professional, a skilled professional, giving me strictly professional advice on nutrition matters. Did I mention that she is a professional?

Ferd: A professional, young, hot blonde? I see. 

Me: Wait, a minute! Babette is NOT a young, hot, blonde. That is absolutely not true. I deny that statement! Not a young, hot blonde. Totally false! Got it? 

Ferd: Okay, what about this photo here of you and Babette sharing smoothies at the local juice bar? That looks like a tasty treat you’re having there. Now, based on this evidence, do you still deny your nutritionist is a young, hot blonde? 

Me: Well, yes, that smoothie was delicious. It contained some goji, mango, and chia seeds – and it was all organic! 

Ferd: No, I was talking about that tasty, young, hot blonde who you seem to go-ji places with. 

Me: Like I said, Babette is not a young, hot blonde. She happens to be in her 50s. 

Ferd: So, she is a hot, older blonde? 

Me: Okay, so she’s a smokin’ hot blonde. Many nutritionists are in great shape due to their profession. 

Ferd: But doesn’t her age make it even more alluring? You wouldn't have much of a chance with a chick in her 20s, but things could heat up with someone closer to your age, couldn't they? 

Me: Look, Babette and I have a strictly professional relationship. I don't even notice her hotness, except that time when she demonstrated some yoga positions she thought I could incorporate into my fitness routine. Her Downward Dog is rather impressive! 

But if you asked her about the possibility of us, say, expanding our relationship, I'm sure she would go all Taylor Swift and proclaim, “We are never, ever, ever, getting together!” 

Ferd: So, her blonde hotness has no impact whatsoever on your professional relationship? 

Me: No, I never said that. Having a hot, blonde nutritionist does help me lose weight. 

Ferd: How so?!! 

Me: It’s a fact that a man’s brain responds to praise from a hot blonde with greater intensity. I call it HBM – Hot Blonde Motivation. 

Ferd: That’s ridiculous! How does that work? 

Me: Well, even though my rational brain understands the professional relationship, my man-brain believes that if I lose enough weight, Babette could be so impressed that she might reward me with a bit of dessert. 

Ferd: Your man-brain is that stupid? 

Me: All man-brains are that stupid. That’s what causes all men to think like idiots most of the time. 

Ferd: And this Hot Blonde Motivation helps you lose weight? 

Me: Sure it does!  When my rational brain thinks, "I think I will have some cake," my man-brain intercedes with “Nooooooo! Babette won’t be happy, and we certainly want Babette to be happy. So, no cake for you!" 

Honestly, my man-brain is so stupid that you could have any hot blonde text me, “Oh, very good!” when I report a weight loss, or “I am so disappointed in you” when I gain weight, and I would be just as motivated to lose weight. She wouldn't have to know anything about nutrition. Heck, she wouldn’t have to know how to spell nutrition for the Hot Blonde Motivation to work. 

Ferd: Well then, what would motivate you to lose the most weight? 

Me: That’s easy! If Taylor Swift would take notice of my weight loss. If that happened, I soon would be strutting around in skinny jeans! - very skinny jeans.

Ferd: Yeah, like that is going to happen! 

Me: Well, I wrote this song parody to get her attention. I have even pitched a music video for the song featuring me dancing around wearing a European man-thong. I just need to drop another 60 pounds and, of course, work out more. 

Ferd: Working out, yes, I almost forgot. There is still another rumor that you are considering hiring a personal trainer. 

Me: Yes, my friend Candy does that, and we have been discussing it. 

Ferd: She’s a young, hot blonde, isn’t she? I bet she is. 

Me: Look at the time! I gotta run. 

Take It Off 

Got so much on my plate

I’m snacking way too late

That’s what people claim

That’s what people claim

 

I eat too many scones

Got issues with big bones

 At least that’s what people claim

That’s what people claim

 

But I keep losin’

Lean foods I am choosin’

It’s like I got this message

In my head sayin’, You’re going to be so light

 

Cause the eaters gonna eat, eat, eat, eat, eat

And milk-shakers gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Baby, I’m just gonna take, take, take, take, take

Take it off, take it off

 

Snack-breakers gonna break, break, break, break, break

And the bakers gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake

Baby, I’m just gonna take, take, take, take, take

Take it off, take it off

 

…. But I will not be taking off that European man-thong in the video!

 

The Last Big Diet – Part 1

I recently embarked on what I refer to as ‘My Last Big Diet’. After years of yo-yo dieting, I hit close to my all-time weight and must shed, or more appropriately shred, significant poundage, or I will die a fat man. 

And I believe that a fat man will die sooner than a thin ... , oh I mean, a not-so-fat man. I remember my friend and former co-worker, Fat Jerry. We all would marvel at the immense portions Jerry would consume at company functions. Fat Jerry would just retort with a huge grin, "It's all good! They're just going to have to get some more pallbearers!" We would all then laugh hysterically and resume eating. But nobody laughed when Fat Jerry's heart gave out at age 64. I hope they were able to find enough pallbearers to lift that casket. 

I blame part of my weight problem on COVID. I was in the midst of a highly successful diet when the virus hit. I speculate the COVID weight gain for many people resulted from the survival instinct we are born with. Your brain is telling your appetite: "You don't know when you will be able to eat again. The virus may kill everyone working at the grocery store, and you may die if you go outside. So, you need to eat mass quantities of anything and everything you can at every chance."

Using this strategy, I am glad to report I survived the virus. I did not starve! However, I gained 28, yes 28 pounds in 2020 after the pandemic began. So, I started a new diet at the beginning of this year. It had just begun when I came down with influenza. After recovering and eating heartily to rebuild my strength, I got sick for a week with a stomach virus. I bounced back just a few weeks before vacation, and this diet was over almost before it began.

The Last Big Diet

So, on September 1, it began. I won’t publicly detail my diet because I’m not a nutritionist. I will say I am counting calories, and unfortunately for me, I don’t get to count above 1,500. Sometimes, it feels as if all the grocers did die of COVID, and the only food available is a can of beans I bought at the warehouse club.

Unfortunately, when Facebook finds out you are on a diet, you are bombarded with every modern diet program known to man. There’s paleo, keto, groucho, harpo, and chico. You are supposed to eat fat or not eat fat. To eat carbs or not eat carbs. To consume any of the 20 magical meal-replacement shakes or rely on one of the traditional programs. But you can’t try Jenny Craig because she died right after COVID, and her followers were so hungry at that point, they consumed the body. I, however, was not impressed with any of these pitches and stuck to my original plan.   

But I Couldn’t Resist This One

In addition to the diets, there were ads for all types of devices, all promising to magically dissolve your extra pounds. I dismissed every one of them as hoaxes, except one. I started reading the ads for men’s compression shirts. The shirts are made of thicker spandex material, and the ads claimed that by wearing the shirts, you would burn more calories and effortlessly lose weight. Well, I didn’t believe the hype and decided they were a waste of money until one ad said that in addition to helping you lose weight, the shirt would “flatten your moobs”. Moobs is the new acceptable term, replacing "man boobs" and the ridiculous "chesticles".

But flatten my moobs? Now you’ve got my attention. Overweight men tend to develop those unsightly and embarrassing moobs. Now, I don’t have moobs like Jagger. Jagger, being Fred Jagger, a retired custodian so chesty that he makes high school girls jealous. But if you can flatten my moobs, I’m in.

Surprisingly, there were many different brands of compression shirts. I chose a black, mid-priced one. The first time I wore the shirt, I was impressed by how it pushed my excess weight together, improving my shape. Then the light went on! This is why women wear girdles. I always thought girdles were funny, but now I get it. I feel you, girlfriends! What I had purchased was a male girdle – or a mirdle. In discussing the subject with some female friends, they pointed out that the term girdle has been replaced by Spanx. I find the Spanx term too provocative. Because a woman is wearing Spanx leggings and makes the mistake of telling me, I consider that an open invitation to … uh … well -- I have been known to get slap-happy.

And the shirt was successful in flattening my moobs! However, initially, the tight fabric irritated my nipples, excuse me, my mipples, which could have the opposite effect of drawing attention to my chest. Although, I have no idea if women even notice mipples, let alone get excited by them.

Putting the shirt on after showering is challenging because your skin is moist. It took me almost ten minutes of intense struggle to get wrapped in the shirt the first time. I was out of breath and sweating by the end, which I wondered if that is part of the shirt’s fat-burning mechanism that they neglect to mention in the ad. So, putting on a mirdle can be a struggle – so once again, I feel for you, girlfriend, I feel for ya! If there were a TikTok video of me putting on that shirt after the shower, “Fat Man Puts on Mirdle” would have gone viral around the globe.

But I do like my mirdle. I wear it on occasions where I want to look my best. My mipples are now used to it, and I am getting better at applying the shirt after a shower. And it does motivate me to keep losing weight because it shows what I could look like if I could just stay on the diet.