The other day at the gym, as I sweated for thirty minutes on the elliptical machine, I observed a very fit young man who was focusing an enormous amount of attention on his calves. His right calf sported a large tattoo of an upsilon; the left was unadorned, apart from a sexy dusting of light brown hair.
With a heavy stack of weight on his shoulders, this twenty-something hunk did set after set of calf raises: up on his tippy-toes, and down, over and over and over. This went on for a good twenty minutes (with short rest and water breaks between sets).
Apparently, though his shapely calves looked rather delectable to me just as they were, attaining greater bulk was very important to this little stud muffin.
As his intense calf workout dragged on, I wanted to hop off the elliptical machine, interrupt him, point to my own tree-trunk legs, and warn, "Stop now, before it's too late!"
For you see, I am cursed with COUS.
Calves Of Unusual Size.
I don't owe my meaty calves to hours at the gym. They're simply part of my genetic inheritance, like my dazzling blue eyes or my slightly crooked ring fingers.
I have never worn a pair of cowboy boots in my life, but in high school I was forced to wear "boot-cut" jeans, simply because any other style was too tight in the calf.
It was Darren who was kind enough to bestow a fitting name on my lower extremities. We were watching The Princess Bride at that time. (Just as an aside, I still find that a charming film that holds up well to repeated viewings. Moreover, were Cary Elwes and Robin Wright ever again quite so perfectly beautiful?)
If you recall, among the many obstacles that dashing young Wesley and lovely Buttercup have to overcome in their attempt to escape the vile Prince Humperdink are the dreaded ROUS, or Rodents Of Unusual Size.
After Wesley bravely dispatched these over-sized vermin, Darren looked at me with a sly grin and said, "Do you know what you have? COUS!"
I knew immediately what the C stood for.
Hey, I'm fine with that. Too bad the first letter isn't a P, though.