Is Wibbly an Action Verb?

                Recently The Dad had a doctor’s appointment and during the time he was there, the conversation turned to his exercise regimen, or lack thereof.  The doctor asked if he used the treadmill we have in the den.  The Dad has used it on occasion.  I have used it on a regular basis.  Well, not in the traditional definition of regular.  Let’s just say it’s more often than Halley’s Comet, but just barely.

                Quite naturally, the next question was, “How fast do you walk?”  The Dad replied, quite proudly, “Two miles an hour!”  When his doctor laughed, The Dad was somewhat embarrassed but mercifully didn’t say anything.  When he was telling me the story, he admitted, “I really only walk 1 mile an hour; I said 2 just trying to look better.”  I laughed but realized laziness must be genetic.

                It’s ironic that I moved to one of the most active, exercise-y locations in America and pretty much stopped exercising, other than walking and even then typically in conjunction with shopping; thrift, outlet or otherwise.  I don’t run, even when chased.   I have gained 10 pounds in the last year simply through being sedentary and I know it’s not healthy but for some reason it doesn’t seem to matter.  Did you know that all you have to do is eat 100 extra calories a day to gain 1 pound a month?  It’s true; rude, but true.  I could exercise, but that’s more mature than I care to be at this juncture.  And I’m not so much worried about a few pounds; it’s just that I am woefully out of shape.  Unless you count wibbly as a shape.  Although wibbly connotes movement.  It sounds as if it is a kinetic fat; a fat of motion.  My fat is inert.  I don’t mean that I don’t move.  I mean that my fat doesn’t move when I do.  I may be out of shape but this is the skinniest I have been since I was wrenched from my mother’s womb in the wilds of Northeast Louisiana.  I didn’t want to come out; I had felt the humidity and was having none of it.  But Christian folks just don’t talk about these things, so I’ll stop.

                As you know, by the 75% off candy at Walgreen’s, Valentine’s Day is in the very recent past.  Love was in the air and boy could you smell it.  That coupled with the plane tickets I have recently purchased for trips to Massachusetts and Scotland for the weddings of two close friends has me thinking about love and other four letter words.  If that tasted bitter, don’t blame me; that’s just your Starbucks Extra Dark Roast, salted with the tears of singles.  And I’m not talking about that terrible Matt Dillon movie.

                I’m kidding, of course, but just barely.  It’s not so much that I’m unhappy single.  I am very happy most of the time.  It’s just that I wonder if there really is someone out there for everybody and if so, why is my person ausente hoy (which is Spanish).  Is it because I’m bi-lingual? 

                And my reaction is usually one of awe that so many people have found their forever person.  Forever love requires a level of vulnerability that I’m unsure I can handle.  If you’re agreeing to be with someone for better or for worse, does that include them seeing you without your Spanx?  I don’t even want to see me without my Spanx.  I don’t think anyone’s preference is to be eternally saddled with a partner who, when undressed, looks like an uncooked turkey wrestling with a Shar Pei puppy.  I’m not being self-deprecating; I’m simply being more honest than I probably should considering at least 51 people are going to read this.  Smell that?  That is bitterness, y’all.  Share my blog for pity’s sake!

                Everyone, except The Dad, knows that Sunday night is the Academy Awards.  I serve on the Board of Directors for Academy of Friends (Academyoffriends.org) and we are hosting an Oscar-related Gala in San Francisco.  Our Gala theme is ‘Return to the Emerald City’, celebrating the 75^th anniversary of “The Wizard of Oz”.  Our Gala color is emerald green.  The fact that we have a designated color is proof positive that I have found the right place to volunteer.  Can I get a 90’s-era ‘what, what’?

                  Now, I have known about this Gala since I attended last year and I thought I might have a date for this year’s event.  And although I have had a couple of sorta-kinda-not-really-dates in 2014, I am currently bereft of escort.  However, there is an upside.  As Production Chair, I will spend much of the evening in my fabulous tux and a Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation headset zipping about ensuring nothing is awry.  And that suits me fine.  I have always been more comfortable in any given situation when I have a purpose.  And maybe, just maybe my forever love will be there.  But I’m not going to go looking; that would simply reek of desperation.  I’m going to stand near the entrance, in the spotlight, wearing my new silver reflective loafers from the clearance section of Cole Haan and let him find me.  I figure, if he can handle those silver shoes, he can handle the rest.

                And that is all I’m saying.