Tales From The Unemployed Part 43

If the wife's gonna support you, the least you can do is try to look presentable. This is something me and the other job-challenged frequently discuss in our bi-monthly How To Hang On To The Sugar Mama meetings. (At first I missed meetings because I thought bi-monthly was every two months. Damn those public schools.) And in order to be presentable certain rules apply: You grow a beard so she stops complaining about how you haven't shaved. You bathe twice a week (TV don't work up much of a sweat). And if you've forgotten to brush your teeth you make sure not to exhale during the have-a-nice-day-at-work kiss. Though why she expects your teeth to be brushed when you're still in bed is beyond me.

Now, I was in terrific shape when we moved to Hollywood. But it's all kind of withered away; four years of stress and rejection taps tends to sap your will to live, much less any desire to wail on the pecs. But I thought I should start thinking about exercising again after Sugar Mama started referring to my love handles as death grips.* So, I went back to jogging today. Managed a mile in just under an hour. That may not sound impressive but I had to stop twice and vomit. I didn't do any of that girly-stretching first either. I'll try again in June.


*Not an original joke. Source unknown, but he looked like Gary Busey.