In celebration of summer, you’ll do what everyone does. You’ll walk into your closet and try to squeeze into a pair of pants you wore last year. But wait. Something’s wrong. You’ve been eating mint chocolate chip ice cream all winter, and it’s finally caught up with you.

When your wife notices your tight pants, she’ll make a comment as tenderly as she can. “Honey,” she’ll say. “Those jeans are clear up the crack of your…”


Normally, you’d get defensive over such a remark. Except, you can’t breathe. So, you slam your fist and tell yourself, “This is my life, dammit. It’s time to regain control.”

You start by skipping breakfast—a time-honored dieting tactic employed by geniuses everywhere. After all, who needs breakfast? All those biscuits just slow you down. You can reward yourself with some clear broth for lunch.

But, when noon hits, you’ve already cussed the plumber, kicked a hole in the sheetrock, and now you’re eating mint chocolate chip out of the carton.

Plan B: exercise.

Some folks wake up and run fifty miles. Not us normal stiffs, we need social motivation, a reason to workout. Try enrolling in an exercise class, thereby drawing positive energy from your better-looking peers. You have two choices here: (a) yoga (b) organized medieval torture.

You choose Zumba, which is a roomful of chipper people who have the God-given ability to salsa dance semi-professionally. So, you give it your best shot, and dance like a wild man—even though, technically, playing air-guitar isn’t dancing.

Moving on.

It stands to reason, since other methods haven’t worked, it’s time to cut out solid food altogether. After buying a seven-hundred-dollar blender, voila! A delicious regimen that actually works.

For breakfast: cucumber smoothie. Easy. Lunch: carrot puree with parsley. Snap. Dinner: mint chocolate chip from the carton, one block of cheese, two Twinkies, and a Budweiser.

And now I want to be serious for a moment.

After going through several dietary failures, cheer up, you’ll find a solution. It might even occur to you in dance class, while gyrating to Gloria Estefan. You’ll kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.

Somewhere deep inside you, you’ll realize you can do whatever you set your mind to. Then put a smile on your face, slam your fist and say, “This is my life, it’s time to regain control.”

Now call your wife and have her swing by the store.

You’re out of mint chocolate chip.

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