I put on my Lucky Jeans last night (that I have not worn since last year in an effort to keep from ripping them to make room for a brace).

They still fit, thankfully, even though I have surrendered my rigorous physical therapy in lieu of a fast food diet and lounging on my couch with a bag of Doritos (and possibly a beer).

So, I was checking myself out in the mirror. I wasn't wearing a shirt, and anyone who wears Lucky Jeans will notice how low they sit on the waist.

I blinked.

I blinked again.

I wondered what the hell those deposits of fat were doing hanging over the sides of my jeans.

I looked like a before picture on one of those cheesy diet pill ads you find in the back of a magazine. Not necessarily fat, but certainly not appealing to the eye.

Damn. Looks like it's off the couch and onto the treadmill.

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