Tony & Fanny

Shape

Next evening Kimberly went into the cellar and brushed the dust off her mom's exercise stuff. Then she took it up to Mr. Wilson's. She knew her mom would never miss them.

"Now these," Kimberly said, grabbing two dinky dumbbells in one hand. "Are you're weights Mr. Wilson. Not too much – just enough to get rid of the blubber hanging down under your arms."

Mr. Wilson hung his head and nodded.

"Now this," she said, unrolling a spongy blue mat. "Is for sit-ups and crunches."

"Sit-up and crunches."

"And this – this little gadget is a girl's best friend."

Mr. Wilson couldn't even guess what she was holding up was for. It was a loop of rope. Strung through the middle of it was a plastic plate about as big as your open hand.

"Watch." Kimberly held her arms out in front of her – an end of the loop in each fist and gave a mighty pull. The disk in the middle sprang up and started spinning. "Mind, this is tricky."

She relaxed and pulled – relaxed and pulled. Pretty soon the plate was whirling at a fearsome pace giving off a loud hum.

"Mr. Wilson that hum is your bosom buddy. It means you're taming udders of yours." She handed the contraption to him then she rummaged through the box.

"I also brought some workout videos. They'll help you a lot."

"What about my – you know?" Mr. Wilson's behind had of late become quite the sad sack – all dimpled and spongy like.

"Mr. Wilson a woman's behind is like her diary. In it she jots down her most secret thoughts. The trouble is it's not really too much of a secret. Each marble and sag mark a high or low point in her life. The good times – when she made a pig of herself to celebrate something. The bad times – she just had to have something the rich and sinful to get her through. For some it's chocolate – for others ice cream –a few go for straight for the cookie jar. For me it's chocolate-chip-cookie-dough-ice-cream." Kimberly frowned in mock sorrow. "Frankly Mr. Wilson's yours is about as wild and wooly as a girl's can get."

"Isn't there anything I can do?"

"Here." Kimberly solemnly handed him a tattered and worn book. At first, he thought it she was handing him a Bible. But it wasn't. Its title was "Every Woman's Diet Handbook."

"Diet?"

"Every woman spends her entire life in a never ending battle with her behind for ownership of her eternal soul."

"I can do it Kimberly. I won't let you down."

"Mr. Wilson – most women loose that battle."

Each night afterward Kimberly went to sleep with the either the hum or heavy treat of Mr. Wilson's going-to-war.

Now young Kimberly knew a few things that most women never latch on to. First off – God loves men best. He didn't want woman to rule man, so he came up with the bright idea of the diet. You see a diet is a dirty trick. You'd have to be a saint to stick to one – only they call it starvation. Plain and simple – it a fool's quest. All anyone can every do on a diet is lose. But it isn't pounds you lose. It's your self-respect. It makes you feel low and no-account. It makes you settle for less than is your do.

Kimberly knew it would break Mr. Wilson's spirit just as well.

Some good did come of it though. Mr. Wilson lost a few pounds. He did shore up his droopy derriere. But it was in the matter of his bosom that God's grace appeared. They burst into full bloom. Where before they were slack and out of shape – now they are firm and saucy.