Tag Archives: beer gut

Curvaceous

Curvaceous: (adj) description of a woman having a well-shaped figure with voluptuous curves.

There are two immutable facts that cannot be denied but certainly would open up debate among those concerned.

  1. Girls who are curvaceous and buxom in high school normally become heavy-set and what we might call “chubby” as they get older.
  2. Boys who seemed to be in great shape in high school, playing football, become portly, often sprouting a beer gut after their escapades on the gridiron.

When high school reunions come around, men who used to be svelte or women with curves which produced great desire arrive at such celebrations looking, shall we say, very “domesticated.”

On the other hand, those students who were ignored, thin or obese, have often gone out and changed their appearance and persona completely.

I am fully aware that a woman’s breasts are a delight to view, interesting to touch for about a minute-and-a-half but are not what you would call “the main course” of a sexual smorgasbord.

A bosom of that sort is a banquet for a baby.

But because we are foolish, we insist that women who have huge breasts are very sexy—until we realize that these curvaceous wonders are really just fat cells.

And consider this: if it’s easy to build up the fat cells in the chest, it is equally as easy to build them up in the waist, the thighs and the cheeks. Both sets. So be careful.

Our society, which is obsessed with curvaceous women, must evolve into a more mature understanding:

Breasts can be problematic for everything—from dressing to disease.

And once we gain a more sophisticated approach, maybe we can just learn that ninety percent of our sexuality is in our brain.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Blazer

Blazer: (n) a lightweight jacket, typically solid-colored

Dictionary B

In my high school days I was in a music group, a quartet of fellows who were very intrigued with the idea of being famous and not quite so intent on musicality.

We spent most of our rehearsals discussing the clothes we would wear on stage, and also whether we could get a good deal on Beatle Boots. It was very important.

Of these four young men, I was the chubbiest.

So whenever we went clothes shopping and they found something they really liked–something they thought was hot and cute, which would get the girls’ attention–they would discover that it didn’t come in “Porky.”

They pretended not to be disappointed–but I knew I was holding them back from being debonaire.

One day we came across some golden blazers.

They were so cool. Everyone tried one on, and each person looked stunning in his own adolescent, awkward way.

There was one extra-large in the blazer. I tried it on, and it covered most of the terrain of my belly but pinched me at the shoulders and looked a bit ridiculous when I stood in front of the mirror.

But the guys were so intent on purchasing the garment that they convinced me I was passable.

Back home, I tried it on again and again and again. Each time it looked worse and worse and worse–especially when I wore it with the accompanying black turtleneck.

I looked like a bumblebee with a glandular problem.

So I set out to address the situation by soaking my blazer in water and then going out to my mother’s clothesline in the back yard, hanging it up with pairs of boots dangling from the inseams, so as to stretch it.

Do you get the picture?

After it dried out, I discovered that it still failed to cover my midriff–but nearly reached to my knees.

For the next year and a half, whenever it was “golden blazer time,” the other guys looked nifty and keen–and I resembled a monk who had recently acquired a beer gut.

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