I just drove for an hour to an audition. It wasn’t even for my skills or my facial looks….it was for my gut. Yes, they took a picture of my stomach. That’s it. Fifteen seconds. Then I had another hour drive back. {sigh}.

Maybe I’ll get the gig…and my stomach will become famous. Within five years my flabby tummy will win an Oscar, and even have a book deal. The rest of me will be unknown, of course. But heaven forbid I ever take my shirt off in public to go swimming…I’d be mobbed. Well, at least my stomach will. Ten years from now, my stomach will request special divorce from the rest of my body because I just wasn’t “pulling my weight” in this relationship. Alone and depressed…I’d starve slowly…figuratively and quite literally…because I wouldn’t have a stomach anymore. My stomach on the otherhand would go out in a blaze of glory…Porsche 911 off a cliff with some other guys kidney in the sequel to Thelma and Louise. Hollywood glamour at its finest.

This cynical moment brought to you by the letters F, K U and C. In some order at least.