My moment came this morning.
After having the covers yanked off me like a magician performing a tablecloth routine, my wife told me to shower and get dressed. I stumbled to the shower, mumbled something about 'fuck da man' then stood bleary-eyed in front of my dresser.
There was nothing to wear.
My choice was clear. I could:
1. Take this as a sign to go out and exercise.
Grab life by the horns. Turn this terrible experience into something positive. 'Own it', as my boss likes to say. Be the windshield and not the bug.
2. Do laundry.
Okay, not exactly a defining moment decision, but doing laundry would at least say, 'hey I'm still here. I'm not quitting.' Life has given me lemons. I'm not ready to make lemonade yet, but I will pull out the ingredients I'll need to make it.
3. Fuck it.
Stuff my belly into shorts that haven't fit me since Color Me Badd was climbing the charts and throw on a shredded WHFS radio station t-shirt from 1992 and eat Capn' Crunch and a Mountain Dew on the couch.
I think you know what I decided.
This is what success looks like.
And here's the requisite duck-face picture you have to do when snappin' selfies:
I haven't shaved since the lay-off. I grow facial hair like Emanuel Lewis.
Be sure to stop in tomorrow when I tackle the tough question: Showering, is it really worth the effort?