The Scarborough Mirror

For some the problem could be a moment of embarrassment. Ever blurt out a clever, cutting wisecrack only to wish you could immediately take it back? How about being dressed to kill, ready to roll and the car battery is dead or a tire is flat.

Just about all have had an experience he or she considers unfair. This most certainly is true in my case. But all the ranting and raving, jumping up and down solves nothing. Mud hits the fan and splatters through the screen door.

My latest brush with the travails of life came with our warmer weather. The thermometer climbed onto the positive scale and stayed. This is the signal we all wait for and herald its arrival.

To etch the importance of this we begin removing layers of winter garb. Heavy coats are exchanged for jackets and sweaters are cleaned and then stored. Corduroy pants, long johns and gloves suffer the same fate.

In my case this seasonal apparel change presented yet another of life's disappointments. The body staring back at me from the bedroom mirror was not mine. I was certain the one I had dressed in the layers of clothing last fall was trim, athletic, an example of a male in his prime.

What I looked at was wrinkled, overweight, a touch saggy and, yes, off colour. Well, the thought struck me, how could last year's tan last this long anyway.

Most folks faced with the same condition become despondent, rush out to join a health spa or fitness clinic. But that is an indication they accept that their body is in a state of decay, declining into middle age.

I opted for the best solution. Denial.

To aid in this meant calling for support. Fortunately Three Beer was at home. Further, he was undergoing the same shocking revelation. Seems he has an oversize mirror as well.

We agreed to meet. To commiserate, tell lies, to exaggerate the well-being of each other. We want to believe we had not changed and aging is the problem of others.

To get to our appointed designation it was necessary I get dressed. This meant blue jeans, a loose shirt and XL jacket. It was easier getting the jeans out of the drawer than getting them on.

They seemed to have shrunk. I could barely get them to slide over my legs let alone in position to cinch up the waist and zipper up. No matter how I tried a gap of two inches separated the waist closure.

At first I blamed my wife. She must have altered them, made them smaller, washed them in hot water. Then reality struck. After removing the pants I buttoned the waist and commenced stretching tactics to make the waist larger.

This involved putting the pant's waist over the top of a door and hanging my full weight on it. After a moment the button popped off and I crashed to the floor. But the waist had stretched.

Later, Three Beer noted the safety pin holding my pants together and mocked me. Not nice. His pants have an elastic waistline.

At least there are months ahead for me to get even and reduce a touch. Maybe I should join the Chubby Chicken Slim Down Plan.