It's a something of a nervous morning here in the WG household. This morning I am having some outpatient cosmetic surgery, a preemptive strike against the ravages of time before the big 40th birthday, which looms just a few weeks away.
No worries, I won't be changing the elegant structure of my chiseled, manly face. (I hear you heave a sigh of relief.) Instead, I'm having a few pounds of icky, jiggly exercise-resistant fat suctioned off my torso.
I have felt a little sheepish about mentioning this on the blog. I'm not quite sure why, really. I'm not ashamed of wanting to reshape my body this way. It's something I've considered for some time, and I'm really looking forward to shopping for pants and other clothes that have been ill suited to my somewhat lumpy body up until now.
Darren has been very supportive of my decision, even though he tells me often that he loves me just the way I am, lumps and all. (That Darren is quite a fella, let me tell you. I plan to keep him around.) He's taking the day off to help care for me, though I'm hopeful that I won't be too needy when we get home this afternoon. Mostly I'll just sleep, I expect. Hudson is going to have a short vacation with his canine buddies at daycare, so I can convalesce without him walking on me this first day or two. He's a sweet pup, but I'd rather not have him jumping on me while I'm trying to sleep.
So, that's the scoop. I may not post for a couple days, but then again I might. I'll just play it by ear. Wish me luck.
PS--Ten extra credit points to anyone who can explain the allusion to Fight Club...