Dear Readers, my word has been questioned, my honor has been besmirched, my manliness has been mocked. In short, I have been challenged! One of my estimable colleagues here in the Perpetual Pit of Palaver (I cannot believe that I haven’t used that one before!), had dared to suggest that he could lose a larger percentage of his mass than myself in a year’s time. Normally, I consider this person a fairly reasonable character, but yesterday I believe that he was struck on the head with something quite heavy (no, it wasn’t me) and stated that there was no way in this Universe that I could lose more weight than he.
I don’t usually pay much attention to such ridiculous boasting. You know me pretty well by now, Dear Readers, and recognize that I am one of the most placid and reasonable of individuals. I am not given to bragging or hyperbole and rarely entertain such from other people. However, yesterday this young man just wouldn’t let it go and taunted me late into the evening with demands that I accept his challenge.
Doesn’t this guy realize that I was raised by coal-mining hillbillies in the foothills of Appalachia? Stubbornness is an actual thing with those people! They have been known to make up their minds about proper sandwich toppings (coleslaw and french fries, of course) 20 minutes before you start arguing about it and are perfectly comfortable with settling the dispute with a family feud that will last generations! This is the kind of person you’re preparing to challenge?
I was raised Catholic. Those people starve their children before Mass and then make them sit perfectly still and quiet for hours. (If you failed in this early test then you were banished to the “crying room.” To be clear, you weren’t crying when you went in, but you sure were crying when you came out!) Your reward for making through this tortuous hunger strike? One piece of quarter-sized unleavened bread, and don’t you dare ask for seconds! You’re challenging this guy to a weight-loss contest?
Still, I was determined not to give in to his foolishness until he stated that the loser would buy the winner and his wife Dinner. When I told Mrs. RW this, she got a rather feverish look in her eye and told me to, “Crush him utterly. I need a night out.” So clean out the fridge, hide the hoagies, and circulate “Do Not Serve” posters around town; it’s on.
So there you have it, folks. A year from now Mrs. RW and I will get a free dinner which no doubt I’ll be too weak to chew and my colleague will have learned a valuable life lesson. I didn’t ask for this, but who am I to stand in the way of the Universe?