It's Labor Day weekend in the United States, and after two days of excessive eating and negligible exercise, I'm once again left in a familiar state of mind, analyzing the existence of my man boobs (moobs) and why they're still around 12 years after I first realized what an obstacle they are to the attainment of my dreams.
Not that I have grandiose dreams or anything, but even getting a simple promotion or making a good first impression is that much more difficult when one has moobs. Charisma is a widely accepted factor of influence, and it's obvious that having moobs drops one's charisma by several points right off the bat.
So, logically, why haven't I done anything to get rid of them? I suppose that at the root of the inaction is that my survival instincts have not indicated that moobs elimination should be a priority. Fact: I never starved a day in my life. Fact: Even while I didn't have girlfriends in high school, I was sufficiently happy with my friends and other forms of available entertainment. Fact: Through a miraculous encounter in college, I met and eventually married a very wonderful woman. Fact: While I'm clinging to the bottom of the middle class in America, my life is surrounded by comfort at home and at work.
So... my casual search on the Internet for a moobs cure led me to this article, "Man Boobs, Motivation & Phil Mickelson". What I get out of it is that I need some kind of jolt to overcome to inertia for starting a journey to a moob-less life. But... I wonder if that's really good for me? I wonder if that's really good for anyone? Essentially what the article was talking about was emotional trauma... and who knows whether I'll come out stronger or weaker as a result?
I don't know, and I probably won't know until something majorly horrible happens. ... At times like this, it seems natural to curse my moobs and reach for a beer.
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