Clothes encounters of the larger kind, Part II

SHE SAID: You may not believe this, but my husband did not think I represented his views accurately in last week's column about weight loss (the one he failed to turn in on time, thereby forcing me to write his part for him).

In fact, he immediately called for a do-over. So, I'm keeping my rant short this week, and turning over the majority of space this column allows to my (cute and talented) husband.

But just to clarify my position from last week, I should add: I support my husband wholeheartedly in any endeavor he should wish to take on (except for this weird fetish he has with digging, filling, re-digging and re-filling the drainage ditch that runs through our back yard. I just don't understand that one.) So don't let him fool you into thinking I'm sabotaging his attempts to drop pounds.

HE SAID (unabridged): Cute and talented, she is.

Straightforward and balanced she's not.

Let's first address this notion that Callie had nothing to do with my gaining 40 pounds in the last two years.

When I met Callie, I weighed 170 pounds. I could run three miles in 24 minutes, I had a 32-inch waist and could squeeze into 30-inch pants. I could bench press 210 pounds. I was working on a six-pack. And I could leap small children in a single bound.

Today's situation: I weigh 210 pounds. I probably couldn't bench press 170. I can run a mile in 12 minutes flat. My six-pack is a keg. I had to buy new pants two weekends ago. Thirty-eights, the same size as when I started losing weight the first time around.

One major thing has changed in this before-and-after picture. I found a cute and talented girl who became my cute and talented wife.

When we started dating, I started spending less time at the gym. Instead of an hour of exercise six days a week, I maybe went four days, which was still more than enough to maintain my weight, although I sacrificed some of my cardio endurance.

Later, Callie often insisted I come home immediately after work. You know how it is. She couldn't wait to see me. I couldn't wait to see her. So the workouts dropped to three days a week, then two, then on Saturdays then one Saturday a month.

By the time Callie and I were about to get married, she decided I no longer needed a gym membership. She figured I could use this nice little park near our house to jog in. Plus the $40 or so a month would go nicely for new clothes or maybe scrapbooking supplies.

To make matters worse, my wife loves to bake. Two or three times a week she'll make something sweet. I've asked her to stop, but she says I don't have to eat anything and there is no use in punishing the entire household. Well, yeah, that's like saying she doesn't have to have the cute shirt on the sales rack. Furthermore, my wife made it appear as if we have a home gymnasium in our basement, which by the way is dark and musky and piled with junk. Our little exercise bike that she mentioned has no tension control. Imagine dangling your feet from a Ferris wheel and spinning them around. Hard to get much out of the Ferris wheel workout. And the "weights" she mentioned? Four dumbbells. Two 10s and two 15s. No bench. No barbells. Just two handheld things that I'm supposed to perform miracles with. And the workout videos? Pilates. For me, whose muscles, tendons and ligaments are about as flexible as concrete.

And our nice little jogging park down the street? You trying running your 215-pound butt up and down hills when it's 30 degrees outside. Not exactly ideal conditions for a keg belly and a slight asthma problem.

So you can see how supportive my cute and talented wife is of my exercise situation.

But let's not forget the deadline issue.

I would've been on time had I not been at home making long and important phone calls that will lead to dramatic changes in our financial future.

Calls which my cute and talented is too intimidated to make.

So you go ahead and believe what you want to, my friend. If you think she had nothing to do with my gaining weight or missing deadline, I've got a home gym to sell you.

cmiller@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 128

bmiller@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 122