On becoming a flesh muppet
a fool’s guide to anti aging
They say that one of the best predictors of your fitness health / age is the cadence of your gait.
How fast you walk is a pretty good indication of your vitality.
When I remember this fact, I walk more quickly than a freight train with tonsillitis.
Despite my embrace of my adult self, I’m still desperately trying to be Peter Pan. If walking fast causes people to say things like You look so young, or, There’s no way you’re that old, I would have guessed you to be ten years younger.
Although, I will say, dear reader, the ‘ten years younger’ compliment is fine, I do prefer to be told I look fifteen or twenty years younger. Despite the fact these compliments are not forthcoming, my vanity remains hopeful.
I was on my way to the vets place to pick up the ‘special’ cat food.
Yes, dear reader, my cat Trevor gets ‘special’ cat food. He’s a big boy with a big head, big butt and teeny tiny little urethra.
What’s worse? He’s an anxious beast. If he doesn’t get to hunt, his teeny tiny little urethra gets blocked and my bank account gets drained.
Instead?
We get him ‘special’ anti-anxiety cat food.
I shit you not dear reader. This is a thing: anti-anxiety food for cats.
It’s great shit. Trevor gets food that keep him alive and healthy and calm. I get to pay for food so expensive that I develop a panic disorder that I then get to soothe by patting my cat.
It’s a perfect circle until the bill comes due.
Yesterday, while on my way to pick up Trevor’s cat food, I walked past someone with a new puppy. My first thought? Aw… How cute. Second thought? I wonder what the cumulative cost of that little fucker is going amount to?
Anyway, we were heading in the same direction and they were going more slowly than me.
How do you manage to pass someone walking slower than you? There’s a whole lot of complex, pre verbal interactions going on when it comes to overtaking or being overtaken on a sidewalk - so many that they deserve their own post…
With this puppy and gormless millennial in front of me my pace quickened from thirty five year old Jimmy to twenty five year old Jimmy, late for work. If I walked any more quickly, I would have put myself at risk of losing my right to vote.
Either way, in short order, I overtook the puppy walking their owner and made my way into the vet.
Upon arrival, I opened the door then did the obligatory ‘shoulder check’ to make sure that there wasn’t anyone following closely behind me.
Of course.
There not twenty feet behind me was the puppy with its human.
I was that guy. You know that guy. That guy in the truck who speeds past you only to wait an extra seven seconds at the next stoplight while you slide in smugly with an expression of oh look, we both ended up stopped here. How silly of you to rush off with such bluster.
And that guy behind me?
He was that guy with the adorable puppy - you know the kind of dog - those beautiful, happy dogs that behave well and just want love.
The puppy was a sandy blob of curly fur, quick stepping feet and enthusiastic curiosity.
Upon entering the hallway of the vets office I faced another puppy. This one was the dark haired twin of the puppy I passed on my way in.
If that was my dog, I’d have called it STOKED.
Yes. STOKED.
IN ALL CAPS.
Because that fucking dog was just thrilled to be alive.
So there I was, in a narrow hallway, trapped between two puppies who hadn’t noticed each other yet.
It was like a kind of ‘social distancing’ line up.
The first puppy was at the cash while its servant was paying for something. The second stood by the door. And me? I was half way down the hall, directly in between the two.
It began with a yelp. The dark haired puppy noticed the sandy one. Instantly its feet began moving,. Its nails raked the linoleum sounding like rain on a metal roof. Its feet were moving more quickly than Fred Astaire’s.
Upon hearing the commotion, the sandy coloured canine, became this Fred’s Ginger. I’m not sure if it was doing everything Fred was doing, only backwards. I didn’t have time to explore because the sounds coming from it sounded like a cross between an angry goose fighting with a mare in heat.
Now I’m sure you’ve at some point played with magnets dear reader. The attraction of these two animals was not so much as emotional as it was elemental. It was all their servants could do to keep them apart.
Their little paws clattered. Their goosey little puppy voices squanked and yipped.
They were filled with love, desire and curiosity.
They were desperate to explore each other’s arseholes.
And there I was, trapped in the middle.
If I moved an inch in either direction I risked being licked into an entirely new plane of existence.
The energy between the two of them was palpable.
I laughed maniacally like a muppet made flesh.
If you should aspire to anything in life, dear reader, I suggest you aspire to experiencing life as a flesh muppet.
No, dear reader, this is not a polite way to suggest that you go get fisted by a creative genius like Jim Henson.
Instead, my wish for you is that you get to experience the bubbly delight of soaking in the intense desire, joy and love of being trapped in a puppy polarity.
Glowing with love, I needed a smoke. I purchased Trevor’s anxiety decreasing food, looked at the bill and felt my anxiety spike.
Then?
Then I went on my way back home.
And funny enough?
After bathing in puppy joy, my gait was light and lively. I wasn’t walking fast to lower my fitness age. I big stepped and danced my way home with the energy of a teenage boy after his first kiss.
You can do what you want to try to stay young. You can try diet, exercise, sleep and even Botox.
But there is nothing, dear reader, nothing at all that turns back time than drowning in a puppy puddle. My gait was so lively I nearly moonwalked back into the womb.
Woof woof, dear reader!
