By Michael Paul Ziegfeld
This year I am finally looking my age which is not helping being 41. You see, tonight I went on a date.
Dating can be a tough road. How do I dress to look like a together man but not square? Which shirt won’t accentuate my extra 10 pounds? I’m already short and thin haired. The things that used to be my “best features” are being eclipsed by the rest of me! I do recall someone once describing me as “stocky”. Stocky … stock … livestock … cattle.
(As a quick aside: If you are a man that describes yourself in your online, singles profile as having a “football player build”, unless you’ve actually played football … you’re just fat.)
I was told that I should dye my hair because it would make me look younger. I’ve done it before but for how long will I have to go on? Isn’t that false advertising? Like a girl stuffing her bra. You get her naked in bed and she’s an ironing board.
Last week I was folding a sheet by holding one end under my chin while stretching the rest out to fold. In the past it was chin-to-chest. This time it was chin-to-second chin-to-chest. My life is over.
I never went to college so I never met my college sweetheart there. Then I took on a career to get me out of a life I didn’t want, only 20 years later leaving me with this new problem. It is said that when in your youth, you have less baggage so finding someone and being found is easier. Greeaattttt.
You can’t be amazing at every part of your existence can you? I participate in life well but being an exceptional, male, physical specimen I will never be. It’s all in my new book, “GOOD HEALTH! … It’s Not My Thing.” Don’t get me wrong … I mean, I hike and eat kale for fuck sake. If my body isn’t amazing, and that is what turns heads, why not just fix it? I dunno. Ask Dr. Oz.
After the date tonight a friend asked me to go with him to a club. I detest them. I’m not physically, stereotypically gorgeous and I’m painfully shy. Plus I’m never dressed correctly. I feel square even though my diverse life is proof of the opposite. But like grade school, I’m horribly, simply, invisible. Why do I give value to a place I don’t even like? I dunno. Ask Dr. Phil.
But it’s clear why I work in front of audiences. For 45 minutes of my day I am wanted, loved, envied, sexy. The rest of the time, feeling uncomfortable and unrecognized as a diamond in the ruff. In a world of immediate assessments & gratifications, what’s on the inside doesn’t have a vote. Except for the 50 year old, overweight Asian men. They love me. Why can’t I see them for whom they are inside? I dunno. Ask Dr. Ruth.