I Don’t Want an Office Ass

I’m fearful.

A cursory glance around this megalithic office and I am confronted with super-sized proportions. In terms of fruit, those waddling around in the lunch room resemble what some might endearingly call the pear shape.

Yes, I did watch the episode of Oprah where she discussed dressing for your shape.

Being a young male with the blessing of an Italian metabolism, my shape best resembles a zucchini, if the sides had all been run through a mandolin.

Despite the incentive of a monetary discount to join the gym, I have yet to enroll. In my six weeks here, I’ve succumbed to peer pressure. I am militant about packing a lunch in the morning, but when asked if I want to go out to lunch, my stomach and mouth say yes. Already labeled “cheap” by my coworkers, I don’t want to appear anti-social or stingy, so I have gone out a bit more often than I budgeted. Despite claiming the frugality defense, I was deemed cheap after affirmatively answering a question about the reuse of plastic lunch bags.

If the gym option weren’t enough to combat obesity, there’s also a Get Fit campaign for the next month trying to get people moving whether it’s walking, running or cycling. It’s a good start, but I think if they would just unchain me from my cubicle, it would prevent developing a monster pear ass.


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