So it didn't bother me too much when my daughter described me as chubby, "but solid" my wife chimed in. So I'm 5'8 1/2" (I swear I used to be 5'9", I must be shrinking, not a good sign), and I never worry about my weight until I top 200 lbs, which has only happened twice in my 41 years, I might added. So, back to the chubby comment. It didn't really bother me. Like most middle aged men, I realize that it is next to impossible to look sexy while driving a mini van. Plus, at 192 lbs, I am safely below my 200 lbs ceiling.
Then my other daughter dropped a bomb on me this weekend. At first, I didn't know what my wife and daughters where talking about until I asked for an explanation, and boy was that a mistake. I discovered that I have the misfortune of having moobs! No, that's not a typo. Moobs, otherwise know as MAN BOOBS! For the love of Pete (I never really figured out who Pete is, by the way), I have moobs. I don't care if I weigh 200 lbs or 100 lbs, am 18 or 85 years old, I don't want to be remembered as, "Oh, you remember him, he's the one with the man boobs". To hell with that. As soon as I get home tonight, that total gym is coming out of retirement. I intend to replace these moobs with muscle if it the last thing I do. Give me false teeth, a hairline that recedes to my collar, but please, save me from the curse of the moobs!
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