Vast conspiracies of fat cells are attempting to make my gut much larger than it already is. Due to some ingestion of carbs and foodstuffs filled with fat and sugar, my fat cells are revolting and gaining access to my most prized possession: my midriff.

I tried in vain to stop them from infiltrating my highly sought-after abdomen, so perfect in its composure and grace, but they defeated me.

Now I got this little pot belly sticking out and making all my shirts that much tighter around my mid-section. 

Why so much concern with our bodies and their appearance?

If you add up the amount of money, time and attention spent on our bodies and appearance, you would be dumbfounded. And just want to eat 17 ice cream cones to take away the dumfoundedness.

I want to stop thinking about my body. And get on with more important things like catching ladybugs walking on the pavement, minding their own business, so awesome and badass, you have to take a video of it. And share it on social media.

(I did this once. It was highly pleasurable. And it afforded me a few precious moments away from constant concern about my appearance.)

You see, I am balding at a very rapid rate. At this point I will be completely bald by 2025. Just in time for the Earth to melt right into black space. Just like my hair has melted into thin air. Thin hair. Thin air. I have no hair. Save for two bushy side things my wife has to keep shaving—unless I want to look like George from Seinfeld. I have nothing against Jason Alexander. He’s a fine actor. And I do resemble him in his hissy fits. This bothers me. Not only am I bald in the middle road of my head, but my hissy fits resemble George from Seinfeld. In his most hissy fit moments.

I can’t help it. I am not only balding. Not only without tight flat abs like a cobra or Bruce Lee (even though we share the same first name—similarities end there), not only without the bank account of Jerry Seinfeld or The Rock—with all of this it’s hard not to compare my appearance with others. Or my bank account.

But as someone once said, “Comparisons are odious.”

I’m not sure exactly what odious means. Must mean something about not being very important.

Allow me to look it up.

Oxford says it’s “extremely unpleasant; repulsive.”

There you have it.

Don’t compare yourself with anyone. It’s extremely unpleasant, repulsive and a supreme time-waster.

You can aspire to be great like the greats.

Whatever "great" means to you.

But comparisons are odious.

And are much more repulsive, I say, than my tiny pot belly, bald head or George from Seinfeld hissy fits.