A few days ago, I came across a blog urging me as a woman to manipulate my hubby into some type of exercise program for his own good, ASAP. The blog gave helpful tips and I was pretty much like, Sweet! After thirty-three years of failed attempts to make Gramps exercise for his own good, I shall finally have him huffing and puffing along with me this winter. Gramps is actually fairly fit for an old guy since he works off his flab with the manual labor of farming and ranching, but still…For his own good, I was willing to try once more.
Then I began to read the blog’s suggestions and my hopes trickled toward my toes like sweat after a vigorous workout.
- Tell him the gym offers deals if I join with a friend: Gramps would say, “Cool, go find a friend”. And go find a gym, if you can, way far away from our home in the sticks.
- Hold out the gym’s air-conditioning and big-screen TV like a carrot on a stick: Gramps doesn’t particularly like carrots.
- Tell him our dog Nellie (who never stops moving twenty hours a day) needs him to walk her for her health: A blatant lie.
- Sign us both up for yoga classes or salsa dance classes: Okay, once when Gramps’ asthma was bothering him, I talked him into a yoga session from a dvd, thinking it might improve his breathing. I think it was the funniest thing I ever saw in my days and he was not laughing–or hitting the downward dog pose–a bit. As for stuffing him in an elvis-like suit to bust some salsa moves…oh, ho, ho. Hee, hee. Please excuse me for a moment while I give myself over to unrestrained mirth…
Goodness gracious. Okay, I’m back with more suggestions.
- Appeal to his manly strength to help protect me from predatory fellers at the gym: This is farm country. None of the fellers are at the gym. Besides, Oklahoma has an open-carry firearm law for just such annoyances, I believe.
- Suggest something romantic like hiking or paddle boats: Gramps paddle-boated me around one time wearing the grumpiest expression known to romantic men in the history of the world and then he vowed never to do that again. I also remember hiking and holding sweaty hands around the fascinating ruins in Chaco Canyon of New Mexico in mid-summer heat. His feet hurt. He was hot. He was thirsty. He was casting longing looks toward our car and saying things like, “No wonder the Chacoans are dead”. He was definitely not interested in staying for a week to explore the entire canyon with me.
- Buy him some new fitness clothes, heart rate monitor, etc: I bought him some socks the other day. Do those qualify as fitness gear?
- Get him a session with a personal trainer, or tennis lessons for his birthday: I’m pretty positive he’d rather have his usual one-thousand-calorie-per-slice German Chocolate cake.
- Get an expert to tell him he’s a fat lard and will probably die early of heart disease: Even to me, that seems a little harsh.
- Finally, the best one–turn on the tears: Which would do about as much good as it did when I was six and he was nine, so I guess I’ll just take him like he is and be thankful he’s still around.
Until next time, God bless all y’all and enjoy Christain comedian, Tim Hawkins and his song Yoga Pants. (Stay outta my side of the closet, Gramps!)