The thin ice of modern life

Ah, who knew there were so many pitfalls and temptations in the course of the day, all beckoning to lead one down a not-so-primrose path? Everywhere you look, sliders and Slim Jims and corndogs, sigh. This is Day 3 of the so-called happy horseshit known as the Master Cleanse diet, and I’ll tell ya, the nuts and berries and twigs of the Longevity Diet are starting to look pretty good. As is most food. Today I put out some food for the chirping, tweeting bastards that inhabit my backyard, and as I did, I thought hmm, nuts and raisins, this kinda looks like trail mix. I wonder if it’s safe for people to eat? But then a hooliganish band of sparrows started giving me the eye, so I left it all to them.

I admit I have not been perfect. Yesterday, after shepherding small children around the ice rink in a spirited game of Sharks and Minnows during their Learn-to-Skate lesson, I had a cherry BlowPop. Which I rationalized by saying it was nutritionally dense, being made of fruit and all. Tonight, when I’m at the Wolves game with friends, I fully intend to have a Mai Tai. Again, fruit. Practically a salad, for god’s sake. Besides, if I drink any more tea, I’m going to start speaking Indian and working for a technology company.

What’s been particularly motivating is the fact that I received my beautiful Desoto wetsuit yesterday, all ready to be tested out. And today I got my heavy duty neoprene swimcap. Sweet! Note: when wetsuit instructions suggest putting plastic baggies on your hands when you’re trying on your wetsuit, do NOT extrapolate and think hey, I’m sure fuzzy gloves will work just as well. Because – and I’m not saying this happened to me, I’m just imagining out loud here – your hands might get stuck in the sleeves and you’ll be hopping around the house trying to get the damn thing over your head without, say, falling into a lamp. And then the phone will ring, and the person on the other end will wonder why you’re being so abrupt, not understanding that you’re like a turtle half in its shell, trying to get the rest of the damn thing either ON or OFF before you cut off the circulation in your begloved wrists. I mean all this theoretically, of course. Me, I’m always the very image of grace and perfection, so I’m just trying to help you, the little people, out.

So I’m all ready to tackle that frigid...long....swim. Well, I will be, in 3 months. Hopefully we’ll all still be speaking to each other by then. Speaking of which, I now leave you back with your regularly scheduled pissing contest between the boys. By the way, if I did beat you guys, I in fact WOULD be calling incessantly reminding you of that fact – in a humorous and jocular way, of course. But since this is about as likely as, say, my showing up on the cover of Maxim, rest easy.