For for a while, it seemed like the biggest sequel to the latest wave of the pandemic would be eternal rain – all day and night, keeping us from wanting to go out even though we’re allowed to. Amazon reportedly saw this coming and went for raincoats, further strengthening their dominance, while still not making Jeff Bezos happy. Eventually it would have reached the point where Bezos had all the money in the world, and we had to go out in the rain to open our mouths like baby birds, as the Bezos helicopters flew above us dropping little balls of nutrition from Heaven. You would have to scratch and scratch yourself for these balls, maybe even sometimes decide to eat yourself instead.
Fortunately, the sun is out, and it all seems less likely now. But the hot weather is a mixed blessing for big, clumsy gentlemen like me. On the one hand, I am delighted that it is now possible to eat a Magnum at any time; no one will judge you. Plus, you can happily stroll around a children’s farm or theme park with a beer in your hand when the weather is nice. Do this when it’s cold and raining, and you will feel like someone is going to come up and arrange a response.
The downside of hot weather is the T-shirt. Whenever people talk about fitness goals and targets (to increase muscle mass, to decrease body fat percentage) all I can think of is that all my life I’ve just wanted being able to wear a T-shirt without feeling embarrassed. Diapers are the goofy fat man’s friend, awkward fat being that level of fat that you don’t look good on. You have weird bulges, so when people put their arms around you for a photo, they say things like, “Oh, so that bump there is actually you!” or “You don’t look overweight in the face, however, it’s just that area.” I did a concert the other day and everyone on the poster was wearing T-shirts. I felt too uncomfortable and was wearing a summer jacket, and all that happened was my belly sticking out every time I moved, like it was a duplicate partner who was fed up with being hidden.
The t-shirts on my body have a lot to contend with: there are the moobs; the protrusion of my belly; the love handles that are so prominent that when I was once fitted for a budding skirt by an old member of a tribe in Sri Lanka, he said he had never seen a body like this -this. You also have the overhang of my stomach, followed by legs so disproportionately thin that I look like what in the auto trade is called a cut and closed.
It is all incredibly stressful. If you get a t-shirt that’s too small, you look like a sausage sticking out of a skin. If you take a T-shirt large enough to conceal the contours, you will look like you’re wearing a blouse. There is, however, a great spot where your body is pretty much covered and you don’t look like a walking tent. On occasion, you may think you’re wearing an ideal t-shirt, then see yourself in the reflection of a store window and realize you’ve made a horrible mistake. So next time the weather is scorching, and you see me wandering around Chessington in a parka, please don’t judge. Just let me enjoy my beer and my ice cream.