Hypothetically Speaking . . .

. . . . . . . . Because Humor Matters

Grandma, Will You Love Me Flab And All

Written By: Michael Rochelle - Jun• 06•11

I’ve been feeling very philosophical lately. It’s weird. It’s like all of a sudden I’ve finally realized my calling, and it’s not just to be the most successful blogger/novelist/fried-Cheerios maker ever. Instead, maybe I’m supposed to use my voice and writing capabilities to impart wisdom to the masses—or at least to my blog readers. The only problem with this realization is that there is now so much pressure to act the part. Like, everything I say should sound smart. And everything I write should be jam packed with wisdom. I mean, a real philosopher would have probably thrown a “thou” and a “henceforth” in this paragraph by now—like I just did. Also, I should probably change my name to Siddhartha and get some glasses because everyone looks smarter with glasses. I should know. After all, I’m a philosopher.

Now that I think about it, I could have probably saved a few dollars a two weeks ago when I bought all those new jeans because philosophers don’t even wear jeans. Though I don’t know exactly what they wear, I’m quite sure it doesn’t come from Old Navy or The Gap. Matter of fact, I should probably start investing in the type of robes that the monks wear. Wait a minute. Maybe I could be a monk!!! They’re pretty smart, right? I mean, they kind of just pray and read all day. They have to be smart to do that. But are they allowed to have blogs? Hmmm. Too risky. Maybe I should just wear a toga and call it a day. Smart people wear togas, I think. Yeah, and I should probably end this paragraph with a smart quote or something. Well, here it goes: “You take the good, you take the bad / You take them both and there you have / The facts of life, the facts of life.”

The other day I was at Kohl’s, accidentally trying on clothes, when something very disturbing happened. Suddenly, someone’s grandmother burst into my stall while my pants were around my ankles and asked if I needed help with anything. I just stared at her for a moment. She looked at me as if what had happened was the most normal thing in the world. Actually, it wasn’t exactly her fault. She was probably being used as a pawn to punish me for shopping after I promised that I would never shop again. However, I needed a pair of black khakis because I only had three or four pairs at home. See, I knew you’d understand. How is a person supposed to live with only four pair of black khakis? Exactly.

Initially, I was embarrassed and ashamed that Granny Kohl’s had seen me with my pants down, but then I thought better of it. I mean, she was someone’s grandma after all. She’s had to have seen a partially dressed man before at some point in her life, right? Even if she and her husband did sleep in separate beds like they did on “I Love Lucy,” she had to have accidentally seen him putting on his pajamas a time or two. In any case, it was then that I realized that there always seem to be women working in the men’s fitting room. It’s never a guy. However, I’ve never seen a man working in the women’s fitting room. Actually, I’ve never been in a women’s fitting room, but that’s beside the point. I’m quite sure it’s not allowed. It’s discrimination. I mean, why can’t I try on clothes without having to worry about exposing my nu-nu, my who-haws, or my wick-wick to someone’s mother? If you ask me, Oprah should have done her last show about that.

In addition to the peeping grandma and my trying to save money, another reason I’ve decided to cut back on my shopping is that I believe I may be going color blind. Seriously, I’ve never had more problems knowing the difference between colors than I do now. Hopefully my life will never depend on knowing whether an object is pink or purple. A shirt that looks grey in dim lighting, turns out to be brown in bright lighting. Pants that are blue when I leave the house, turn out to be black when I get to work. It’s the weirdest thing. No lie, the other day I bought a black shirt, but when I got it home, it was yellow. Completely ruined my day. Not even I can pull off a yellow shirt with red slacks. I was so upset. Maybe I should hire a personal shopper. I mean, if Paris Hilton can have one, then why can’t I?

On another note, recently I’ve had a few conversations with people who think it’s weird that I go to the movies by myself. One, I live right across the street from a movie theater and it’s just so simple for me to run over and check out whatever I want to watch when I want to watch it. Two, I don’t have to worry about coordinating my schedule around someone else’s evening where they have to beat the children, feed the husband, and have the dog all tucked in by a certain time. Three, there is no fight that ends up on the nightly news regarding which movie to watch. If I want to go see “The Hangover Part II” right this minute, I can do that without having to slap someone until they realize that they don’t really need to see “Bridesmaids” for the fifth time.

Furthermore, going to the movies by yourself doesn’t necessarily mean that you don’t have friends or that people don’t like you. It just means you’re comfortable with being in your own company—even if you do make sure you get to the theater two hours early so that no one sees you walk in by yourself. Also, doing things by yourself can alert other people that you’re single without you having to break out a radio and do the “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)” routine in the middle of an AMC theater. Yes, the last time I did it I brought the house down, was offered a record deal, and got three phone numbers, but sometimes all that is completely unnecessary. One time this lady even gave me her daughter’s number right in the middle of a movie. Hey, you just never know when you’ll meet your soul mate—or your soul mate’s mom. It could be at the next Harry Potter or Freddy Krueger movie.

In closing news, although I may have been the first partially nude guy that Granny Kohl’s has ever seen, because the temperature is going up, I’ve been seeing a ton of shirtless guys showing off their gym bodies—even at church. Well, because I just started exercising more and eating less a few weeks ago, I’m not exactly beach or pool ready just yet. In fact, I’ve been banned from the pool at my apartment complex until further notice. Apparently my physique was scaring the children. Regardless, I’m not going to let that experience or all the abs and biceps I’m exposed to at the supermarket lead me to have a bad image of my own body. Nope. Instead, I’m focusing on loving and appreciating every single roll and crevice I have. I hope the world—and my apartment complex—is ready for me because the next time I hit the pool or the beach, they’ll just have to accept me as I am, flab and all.

Michael Rochelle
Access my full blog: http://www.justmichael.net/blog
Access my website: http://www.mikeyllo.com
Add me on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/michael.rochelle1

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One Comment

  1. Tersh (Adonis) says:

    Besides “thou” and “henceforth” you should know “Ergo”. And I hope u know what that means..lol. And if you’re going to do the whole Philosophical bit, then u must dress like Mahatma. You know–Gandhi. He wore a dhoti just like the film portrayal to fit in with the poorer classes. I think u can fit in with the skinny jeans but I dont think anyone would believe you’re a philosopher..lol

    On the issue with your vision, it must really be screwed up if black is mistaken for yellow or vice versa. Maybe Superman can help.

    And don’t ever go to the movies by yourself..It just isnt right. It’s actually a sin. I looked it up. The only plus side of going to a movie single, is that I get to sneak up and ask, “Is anyone sitting here?” Now that I know that..Watch out Gandhi!

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