I have a paunch. It’s a “large and protruding pot belly,” according to some online dictionary. An abdominal utterance. An anomaly. It shouldn’t be there. My paunch is actually quite small in comparison with some paunches I meet. Some are downright huge. I don’t know how people carry around paunches the size of Santa’s giant bag of toys. I’m not judging. I’m feeling sympathy. It must be hard sharing a life with a large paunch. Mine is small, but still a paunch. It’s not flat “washboard abs.” It’s not a “six-pack.” It’s more like a small barrel of rum a sailor would take on a trip across the sea to some far-off exotic place. I wonder if Christopher Columbus had a paunch?

My paunch bothers me even though it’s quite small by paunch standards. It’s almost not there, but there just the same. I can see it when I look down. My chest is flat, not punched up with pecs, sorry, I don’t go for the gym and squats or curls or whatever you call that exercise where you lift weights to make your chest stick out like puffy boxing gloves. A bad analogy but we’ll leave it just the same…you know what I mean. It’s a thin, skinny chest, but then I look down and I see that little ski slope of a paunch protruding from my midriff I’m dismayed and downright pissed-off. Why me? I say. Why can’t it be flat? Shirts weren’t designed to account for paunches. They’re flat in the front, just the way my midsection should be.

I tried giving up carbs but that was just stupid. No one can live without carbs. I don’t care what the experts say. I know they all sneak a hunk of bread and butter now and then—maybe more “now” than then, if you know what I mean. I don’t understand how people can live on meat and vegetables without succumbing to the glories of starch. We were not put on this planet to measure out our food with such deliberate consideration. Imagine a cave person counting carbs. They’d give their left loincloth for a slice of thick crust pizza.

But back to my paunch. It’s little, it’s round, but it’s there. And I have, with all honesty, given up sugar; for the most part. Almost. Just enough to publicly say I’ve “given up sugar.” I feel elevated. I feel better about myself. I feel slightly, just ever so slightly superior to the rest of the human race stuck in the trenches with Twinkies and ice cream and candy bars.

I’m hoping this will help rid myself of my paunch. I can’t cut my paunch off; that would be ghastly. I’m sorry I even mentioned such a hideous thing.

I’ll just stop focusing on it and get back to my affirmations.

I’m grateful for toast…I’m grateful for toast…I’m grateful for toast…

©2023 Bruce Palma. All rights reserved.