Yes, I know. I let myself go.
It was all those dinners of fried chicken and armadillo ice cream. A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.
Oh, and all those summer days spent staring at the sun waiting for an eclipse. Wasn’t there supposed to be one today?
Not to mention the thousands of times I allowed my face to be smacked with a shovel. You let someone do it once, they think they can do it all the time.
And what about those moments I put my face in the campfire to make sure it was cooled enough to leave? Not a good choice, turns out.
My luxurious hair? Yeah. That rat poison shampoo which was supposed to have given me a lustrous sheen turned out to be a mistake.
And that skin care stuff made out of poison ivy. I misread the label. Thought it said aloe vera.
In retrospect, those hours and days I spent on the couch binging on Netflix probably didn’t help my physique.
And if you’re so inclined to do so, try not to gorge on a tub of friend pork skins as you do it.
Yeah, I really let myself go. But at least I don’t look like THAT former celebrity. What did they do to themselves to make them look so horrible? Get into a fight with a honey badger?
Mark Bruce, Writer 