Recently, my husband told me he is proud of his body, because he is made in God’s image.
God has man boobs?
Kidding, sweetie. But we aren’t aging quite as well as some others. Currently, we have house guests. One of them is a 57-year-old man who looks like he is maaaybe 40. If you cut off his head (but no one would, because it’s too cute), he looks twenty-two.
For his 57th b-day, which was this past week, he swam 57 lengths of a pool, biked 57 miles, ran 5.7 miles (wimp), and did 57 crunches, chin-ups and other stuff. ALL IN A SINGLE DAY.
I think he’s afraid of aging. Obviously, I am not. But I think that for my 52nd birthday, I will do 52 minutes of exercise a day all year. Or bake 52 cupcakes all at once. I have a couple of months to decide.
In the meantime, I am going to try to take a photo of our house guest as he gets in the shower. I know that’s not polite, but for you, dear readers, I am willing to violate the Hostess Code. Hopefully I’ll be posting his pic tomorrow.