Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty...

Since I know I have readers of varying backgrounds, and I try not to be deliberately offensive, I figure if I'm going to talk about something that's borderline in the tastefulness department, it's only fair I give warning to people who might find a post objectionable.

Consider yourself so warned.

This is something that I've been thinking about for a while, but haven't really articulated it to anyone because, well, it's just not the thing you talk about in polite company.

I know a lot of dieters complain that they can't see their feet. Well, I can't see my feet either if I stand straight up and look straight down. My stomach blocks the view better than my kid standing in front of the evening news, so I can only examine my feet if I sit down, and hoist one up into my lap.

So here's how my regular examinations go: First, I sit down. Hup! Foot is in my lap. One, two, three, four, five. Yup, all my toes are there. I should probably clip my right toenail because it's a little long, but otherwise everything is okay. Now, check the other side. Hup! One, two, three, three and a half (oops, toe jam, flick) four, five. Check. Everything is normal there. Sniff. No smell. Good. Now that I've had a happy visit with my ten toes, I don't have to worry about them for a while. Everybody is clean, happy and wiggly.

Great.

So I can pretty much examine all parts of my body. I can look down and see my front, I can stand in the mirror and see my back (frightening though my butt may be) and of course I can see my face, my hair and my hands. That's all good. I can see everything, except for one thing.

What part is that you ask?

Well, it's that place below my...

Bonk!

I just paused in my blog entry to look down to see my next door neighbor's cat, Oscar the Orange, rubbing himself on my ankles. Apparently he's managed to sneak into our house again. "Meow," he says amicably to everyone.

I have to kick him out because my SO is allergic. "Bad puddy!" I scold him as I gently toss him out the back door.

Okay, now where was I?

Oh yeah. Body parts. The ones I can't see.

Well I'm sure by Oscar's appearance, you can figure out what body part I'm talking about.

"Meow!" Oscar is offended and scratching at the door.

So my fat rant for the day is this: I am getting really tired of having to lift my big fat stomach out of the way to pay a visit to my undercarriage. What's weird is that my stomach never seemed to be in my way, and then all of a sudden, there it was. When I stand in front of a mirror with nothing but my underpants on, my stomach obscures the entire view. Unless I look beforehand, or turn around and aim my bum to the mirror, I'd never be able to guess what color underwear I am wearing.

I'm tired of having to hoist my gut up out of the way to wash, and I'm tired of the skin irritation caused by the bottom of my stomach rubbing on the top of my...

"Fur!" my SO just exclaimed. I guess Oscar left his calling card. "Achoo!"

I wonder how much weight I'll have to lose before this annoying problem goes away.

"Meow!"

No, not you, Oscar...