Desperate Times Call For...

…you guessed it. Desperate Measures.

Yesterday, (sniff, sniff) my “go-to” outfit failed me. You know the one I mean—the dress or skirt or blouse that manages to disguise temporary extra pounds while still looking chic and sexy? Well, I threw it on and (gasp) a roll appeared just above my hips. Yes, a roll!

Calming my nerves, I sucked in my gut, stood as tall as my five foot four frame allowed, and inspected the result in the mirror. Ah. Much better. Certainly good enough for work…as long as I held myself just so.

Guess what? I caught myself not holding just so several times over the course of the day.

See, here’s what happened. All aspiring writers make sacrifices for their art, right? Some get less sleep, others stop watching TV. Well, I (she said self-righteously) gave up the gym. Yep, it’s true. I had the fortitude to just toss it aside.

Hm. Maybe I need to find a balance.

First up—I decided to inflate the exercise ball that’s been sitting in my living room looking like a mutant Serrano chili. Ha. Easier said than done. For those of you who’ve been following the bouncing ball (I know, I know, you have to be ancient to “get” that cultural pun) anyway, you’re no stranger to how lame I am around the house. But, hey—the instructions were short and sweet—the kind even a moron can follow.

Observation: Short and sweet instructions can be deceptively intricate.

Case in point: “Use the inflation nozzle to inflate and the deflation nozzle to deflate.” Okay, I give. Which one is which?

Finally, I get the proper nozzle in the proper slot while keeping it connected to the plastic pump that looks like the cheap toy you grab from the drugstore at the last minute before hitting your friend’s kid’s birthday party. I place it on the floor and begin to stomp it with my right foot. Thirty seconds later, already exhausted and aching, I switch to my left foot. (Turns out I’m not ambidextrous when it comes to my lower extremities.) I try my right hand. Try my left. Five minutes into this pattern, I wipe the sweat from my brow and applaud my work. The mutant chili now resembles a cucumber left in the 'fridge too long.

In the end, I successfully inflate the ball to its ultimate capacity and cap it off with the plug-thingy.

Only I’m too tired to try it out.