We as a society are too obsessed with everything mid or middle. Middle class, middle age, middle kingdom, mid point, midriff, meet in the middle and what not. We talk incessantly about the receding middle class or the approaching middle age or a mid life crisis. Why are we so fascinated about being middle this or middle that?
One thing middle we try to avoid discussing, the growing midriff. At different culture and a different time, a growing midriff used to be a sign of affluence. In those time a middle aged person without a visible midriff must be a poor person who could not afford the good things of life. It was unthinkable to see a matriarch with a matronly figure without a sumptuous midriff and ample rear end. Benevolence of fast food have leveled the playing field as far as the growth of human midriff is concerned. Now even pre pubescent children can easily flaunt an ample growing midriff. For our better halves, fearing retributions, we have a better word to describe a growing midriff, love handles. What a beautiful word. Those blessed with a hourglass figure do contribute enormously to the economy to keep their midriff slim and help a section of the middle class to survive with tons of sweat and time spent in gyms. Nothing comes free in life. Growing midriff have the potential to land us in trouble with type II diabetes slowly making inroads in our life as we approach our midlife. Though it may be painful, both physically and also hurting the pocket at the same time, this is one item where ample growth needs to be curbed.
This is a personal challenge for me. Like anybody else in this world, I lean towards food that are tasty rather than good for me and it shows where it is supposed to show. That growth and the necessity of upgrading the wardrobe hurts the pocket. So here is my ode to “Waistline”, a poem starting with the word “W” for week 22 of my fifty two weeks journey with the “W”. Alas, I am still four weeks away from the mid point of my travel. Ah! again that dreaded word mid.