Presenting

82 | GRAVITAS MAGAZINE GravitasMag.com THE LAST LAUGH recently started a new project. Not a vegetable garden or a new business venture. It's me —that's the project or more specifically —my body. At 46, it's time to take a realistic stock of the half-hearted attempt at health I've maintained the past few years. I have been a busy girl, which should count for something. After all, I moved to a new city where I knew no one, built a media company from scratch and survived a divorce while raising two elementary school age little boys. You would think with all that stress, I would be a toothpick. But, instead of losing the customary 25 pounds of fat you are supposed to discard when you offload a husband – no, I gained weight. Apprently Ben & Jerry's does not cure disappoint and fatigue. Yet, another crushing life lesson to add to the pile. So now it's time to synch up my bigger girl panties, lay down the Chuncky Monkey and join a gym. Uh, the dread. I tour the first one tomorrow. Contemplating this new adventure into fitness, I am reminded of a day long ago back in the early 90s, when I had a certain swagger in my step as I embarked on the same health-conscious endeavor to join a gym. Bored with my boyfriend and my job, I had decided to kickstart a self- improvement program. Step number one: I searched the Yellow Pages for a gym. (If you are under 30, you may not be aware that we used to actually look stuff up in a giant yellow book – pre-Siri). I found an old pair of leggings from the bottom of a drawer and headed off after work to unearth a toned, slightly smaller, improved me. During a quick tour around the gym by Mr. Buff #1, I noticed a couple of heads turn my way. is was nothing new for me, I was a genetically blessed, well proportioned young woman. Men glaring at my ass was not exactly noteworthy at the time. As I began my ascent up Mt. Stairmaster, I noticed a few stares from men walking around the gym and maybe a couple of ladies, too. I started to think I might not need to break too much of a sweat, apparently that extra ten pounds was working for me. Stopping off at the grocery store next to the gym, I continued my devotion to health by making myself a nutritious dinner from the salad bar. I noticed a guy walk by staring at me, then walk by again with a big smile and wave. I thought to myself, "Girl, you're looking fine. Go ahead give yourself a cookie. It must be true. Guys really do like a little extra junk in the trunk." Standing in line, I smiled at everyone, almost giddy in my newfound confidence. Once home, I headed to the shower with a skip in my step. As I turned to open the shower door, I caught a glimpse of something odd in the mirror. Facing my rear to the mirror to investigate, a top five nightmare was realized. ose old tights I excavated from the bottom of the drawer had a hole in the middle of the buttocks the size of an orange, a big one. at's right, I had been parading around bare-bottomed, blissfully ignorant of my exposure. Now, I cry with laughter remembering the incident, but twenty years ago, the mortification was beyond words. Needless to say, I never returned to the scene of the crime. In fact, I avoided the entire five mile vicinity for years as if it was an Ebola quarantine zone. So, as I head to the fancy new gym down the street from my office tomorrow, you can bet I will be wearing brand new yoga pants with reinforced seams. I Subscribe to GRAVITAS and visit us online at GravitasMag.com The Butt of the Joke Written By Jules Lewis Gibson Illustration Maria Laureno By Jules Lewis Gibson, Founder and Editor in Chief of Gravitas Magazine follow her @SeasideJules

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