Whenever my second grade teacher, Mrs. Kleinstuber wrote on the chalkboard, the loose flesh of her arms flopped around so violently that the children gasped in fear. I started a little gambling circuit and took action on whether she was going to be the first person to be knocked cold by her own arm flab. It never happened, but it would have been monumental.
Also monumental is the day you see your own arm flab flopping when it shouldn’t. Since the past few years haven’t been conducive to maintaining a gym regimen, all of the weights I had lifted revolted and tacked themselves to the back of my arms as very soft tissue. So I started lifting again. The weights are lighter now, but after a couple of months my arms stopped their disgusting jiggle dance. I’ve lost about ten pounds and am getting ready for Speedo weather (although my daughters maintain there is no proper climate for that).
This led to Saturday morning when I was headed out for a run. For the first time in a while, it was warm enough for short sleeves. My lovely wife (LW) was getting ready to go to a meeting when I left which gave me a great idea. If I timed my run correctly and altered my course slightly, I could be running along the road as she drove by and maybe grab her attention with my improved physique!
So I dashed away – head held high, back straight, arms tight. Down the big hill and onto the straightaway thinking she would see me at any moment and maybe even honk or whistle! Nothing. Just other cars. Undaunted, I kept running the next mile majestically – like Achilles headed into battle… until I came to the split where she would turn off. Still nothing. My route included about two miles that she wouldn’t travel, so I figured I could cruise those and maybe catch her on the return trip.
That’s where it happened. I got cat-called. Not by my wife… by someone in a blue car! At first, I was in shock. “Did that really happen?” I wondered. I mean, who does that? We aren’t in Italy and I don’t look like that tourist. I honestly felt insulted. All my life I have tried to keep that kind of thing in check and not stare, drool, or whistle at the opposite sex. Now, here I am on the other end of a lustful attack.
The blue car pulled to a light which gave me time to see the girl who had demeaned me. To my surprise, she was young and quite cute. What are they teaching kids these days? She actually had her tongue out as she looked me up and down. This was too much! I became very uncomfortable under the passion of her leering gaze. Fortunately, the light turned green and the driver sped away – probably embarrassed by her, as well.
Soon I was back on the stretch where I might run past LW. Before I tackled the hill that loomed between me and home, I doubled back a few times and ran the nice, flat spot trying to look my best. No dice. I must have missed her while I was being assaulted, so I started up the ¾ mile hill affectionately dubbed, “Suck Hill”.
My lungs cried out for air near the top like a hiker on Kilimanjaro. I was wrecked from the extra mileage of the flat spots where I’d hoped to impress. Just when I almost crumbled to the ground in exhaustion, I heard the little honk of LW’s minivan.
That didn’t quite go as planned. Rather than saying, “That’s my man!” as she drove past she was probably thinking, “I hope he doesn’t sweat on the carpet.”
Oh well, at least I did get cat-called!
To you, golden retriever who hung your tongue out of the blue car and barked at me, if your driver won’t take you on a run, I’ll take you next time. Thanks for making me feel wanted.
A Generous Helping 
You are to writing what a master jeweller is to diamonds. You pack gems so perfectly your posts become (very funny) writing wow-ness!
“(although my daughters maintain there is no proper climate for that)”
Thank you!! 🙂 🙂 🙂
Lol. I hear they are overused and abused on your European beaches.
I keep my eyes closed 🙂
oh my goodness! That was hilarious!
Thank you for stopping bad and I’m glad to give a laugh.
The reason that young people think they know everything – is because they do.
Most fathers learn, through much pain and embarrassment, to never, never, never disregard the fashion sense of their LW and daughters. Sons we can ignore but never daughters.
Yes, I agree on all points. But we have to lord something over them. For me it is the constant threat that I might wear something embarrassing like a speedo because they know I don’t care…
You are a NUT but the good kind. I do so love your writing. It always brings me to laughter or tears so that has to be a good thing. Either is cathartic ! Also your family is in your writing somewhere and that brings joy! Keep on, keeping on Mr. Myers (from a granny type), I would have honked at you if I had been there??
Thank you. That is very kind. The tears have taught me a great deal about the value of family. Like you said, they are always there.
LOL! I love your writing style.
Ah. Thank you Rachel.
Oh, Mark, how hysterical. I was waiting with baited breath for the punchline. Not that I didn’t think an incredibly attractive woman would cat-call you! Not at all!
Thank you for the ear-to-ear smile this morning. 😀
(and yeah, agree with the daughters – nix the Speedo – those below-knee swim shorts are SO much more sexy. 😉 )
Below the knees for sure! I would never wear a speedo, but my kids live under a constant threat of it. Keeps them guessing.
Oh my gosh! That was great. Thanks for the laugh.
Glad you enjoyed.
it’s all good, we have to take our compliments where we get them. even if it’s from a 4-legged friend.
Amen. She was VERY cute.
Hahahahaha!!!!! Great story…am laughing just picturing it. 🙂
Thank you. And the labrador thanks you.
Wow, I did not see that ending coming. You are such a talented writer. Thanks for being uplifting!!!!!
Good for you getting back in shape! That story was hilarious…thanks for sharing :).
Wouldn’t that have been a “dog-call”? 😄. I was in a hardware store recently and some dude, at least 80 years old, started flirting with me. Not long ago I would have thought him a dirty old man. Now, it made my day. 😂
Well, a dog call would have given away the ending.
See, that’s why you’re the writer, and I’m not!