Monday, April 27, 2009

Mirror, mirror.

Monday morning finds me checked out of the Quality Inn and Suites Airport and checked in to my stepmother's home up in Orillia, Ontario. A few more stars in this lodging, and the service is excellent.

Gone though is the view of the Spearmint Rhino Gentlemen's Club and the questionable sticky substance on the floor of Quality's elevator. Someone may have been going down. I have concluded they may rent the "suites" by the hour.

We are heading back to Halifax today. Back to school and Fitzy and the ol' routine. I love being on the road, even though thanks to technology, my work goes with me everywhere. This is a mixed blessing as there is no escape.

At the Quality Inn, there was also no escape from the grim reality that appeared every time I glanced at the mirror in the bathroom. The initial reeling back in horror, soon turned to complete gagging disgust at what was going on south of the shoulders and north of the ankle bone. My trip to the gym, clearly hadn't kicked in. Add the neon lighting that popped every fat pothole and vein to the surface and it was a depressing slap in the face.

Objects in the mirror were much larger than they appear. You couldn't even wipe your ass without thinking maybe I should switch to paper towel.

Time to bump things up a notch. Maybe I'll do the Boot Camp at the Courtyard. The instructor looks a bit like Stephen Segal. A little domination in the morning might be nice.

After all, it is Monday. A fresh start. Only a few more weeks 'til warm weather will bring the Babar sized tankini to the surface. I have work to do.

The house is still quiet. Jack is tucked in upstairs in a single bed surrounded by a stuffed bear collection and 3 baby photos hanging above his head. Mine, my brother's and Jack's. My stepmother loves him, and perhaps he looks a bit like my Dad.

My bathroom here also has a mirror, but somehow in the dimmed light of love, things don't look too bad. I have my father's thighs. I can live with that.