Can’t Be 55!

Yesterday, I celebrated my Annual Aging Anniversary — the 55th in this lifetime. I know I’m getting older, but am I also getting better…wiser? Naw, probably not!

When I awoke, I found two Freeloading Fats had affixed themselves to my Fat Fanny while I was feasting Friday night. Foo on you you two Fats! [Update: the first of those Freeloaders had fled by this morning. The other has been served notice and is already packing.]

I spent the first half of my Aging Anniversary away from the Fat Cave, by myself. Ma Fat and the Fatlings generously gave me the day off. So, I headed over to the local R.E.I. (Ridiculously Expensive Inventory) for a Members-Only Special Sale — radically expensive items that had been returned and were now only moderately expensive. None of these specials enticed my wallet open, but a new pair of Really Keen Hiking Boots did walk out the front door with me (I paid for them, first).

At the next Outdoor Store I visited, my attention turned to searching for a PFFD (Personal Fat Floating Device) to wear when I go kayaking. I know Flab Floats, and I have enough to be very bouyant, but I want to protect myself from the Negative Bouyancy associated with my shrinking size. I did not find one to my liking and will look again elsewhere.

Since I am Chief Chef at the Fat Cave Diner, I headed off in search of food for my Aging Anniversary Dinner. I wasn’t sure of what would be appropiate after having shed all those Puny Pounds earlier this month, but I had an idea of what I wanted eat for Dinner. When I was just a Fat Boy, Fat Mama used to prepare Hamburgers and Homemade Potato Salad for my Big Day. That’s what I wanted.

My favorite Food Distributor is located on the other side of Fat County. As I drove there in the Fat Mobile, a late-model, full-size Chubby Van, I listened to Rock music streaming through my radio’s speakers. That’s when I heard the song that defines the next 12 months for me…

It was the Summer of ’84 when I first heard this life-defining song. I was crawling along the Kapitol FatWay in my dirty-white Toyota Starlet Coupe. My Cozy Coupe and I were stuck in a seemingly endless Rolling Traffic Jam. This little Starlet was not very happy that day — she was getting all hot and bothered and so was I. You see, my Mini Mobile had no A/C, and was prone to running hot. The only way to prevent the engine from overheating was to turn the heater on — Full Blast.

The blue, pin-striped jacket of my Power Suit was lying in a crumpled heap on the passenger seat. My tie was loosened and my starched, white shirt was open at the collar. My Back and Pits were soaked. I looked at my watch — it was clear that I was about to be late for my next appointment.

The stress was building in me. Just as I was about to explode, I reached my right hand through the Sirocco spewing from my heater vents and turned on the radio. Franticly pushing buttons, I scanned the FM dial in search of a Kick-Ass Rock Station to calm my jangled nerves.

And then, there it was. The song that would one day come to define my life. Not the one I was living in 1984, but the one awaiting me in 2012. The tiny, tinny speaker under my dashboard belched forth these lyrics:

One foot on the brake and one on the gas, hey!
Well, there’s too much traffic, I can’t pass, no!
So I tried my best illegal move
A big black and white come and crushed my groove again!

Go on & write me up for 125
Post my face, wanted dead or alive
Take my license n’ all that jive
I can’t drive 55! Oh No! Uh!

I can’t drive 55!
I can’t drive 55!
I can’t drive 55!
I can’t drive 55!

Who was that guy on the radio and how did he know how I was feeling? Oh, wait, that was The Red Rocker himself, Sammy Hagar, belting out his new hit, “I Can’t Drive 55.” Yeah, my situation was different from his. He wanted to cruise as far above 55 MPH as he possibly could. All I wanted was to be able to speed up to 55. Either way, neither one of us could drive 55.

…Life at 55 appears to be a CrossRoads of Contradiction. Hurry up and wait or put the Pedal to the Metal and kick it into Hyperdrive. Do I risk BurnOut by pushing hard and going as fast as I possibly can? Or, do I take the Cautious Approach because that’s the best I can expect from this Fat Old Body? I’m no Spring Chicken anymore. I have an abundance of Health Issues, any of which could be the end of me. Yet, now that I am shrinking my size, one Puny Pound at a time, I want to Live Life to its Fullest. I want to make like a Schlitz Beer Commercial and Grab for the Gusto! I want to drive my Cozy Coupe around the FatWay at 55 or faster. Sammy Hagar is still Rocking Out! And he turns 65 later this year!

So, despite the numbers displayed on my Life Meter, I can’t be 55. I’ve got too much life to live! But in case I manage to overdo it, please be ready to pick me up, brush me off, and thrust me back into Life.

Ciao for Now, PussyCats!

I can't drive... 55!!

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