I have decided to employ a personal trainer at the gym.
Yes, I know.
I met him today for the first time. He is called Nelson (though he seems to have a full compliment of arms and eyes and didn't once ask me to kiss him - or talk about Kismet, depending on which story you believe. Check your history book fact fans!) and comes from an undetermined Mediterranean country (the country I am sure is well known, but I haven't yet asked him which one it is).
I met him the foyer of the Health Club where he was talking to an extremely slim and well-toned lady in posh sporting gear.
I was a little nervous about meeting him and ashamed that I had taken this awful step towards twatdom(but then I felt like that when I bought my mobile phone and look at me now, fingers grotesquely twisted from too much texting - and anyone who says it's to do with anything else is lying) so I hovered waiting for him to notice me.
By the lady's accent I determined that she also originated from some foreign clime, though not being Henry Higgins I was only able to determine that it was unlikely to be Antartica.
Finally I managed to butt in with a "Hello" and the lady stopped talking to Nelson and said to me "You're lucky. Nelson is very good. Look what he's done for me."
She proudly indicated her own, admittedly very impressive body.
Still a bit tongue-tied and timid I said something like "Well, I'm not sure I'll be happy if I look exactly like that."
The joke I was trying to make was that the person I was talking to was a female and thus I think I'd be within my rights to get my money back if Nelson's instruction changed my sex.
But I had been a bit flustered and as ever socially awkward and I was talking to two people who did not have English as their first language and in any case I had left much room for misunderstanding in my hastily cobbled together quip, so neither of them laughed.
In fact the woman looked a bit pissed off, assuming, I imagine, that I was saying that her body wasn't much up to much.
Perhaps her pride in herself deserved to be pricked in any case. But the older I get the more I think that pride in yourself is a good thing to have and it was a shame to accidentally dent the ego of a perfectly affable stranger.
There's a thin line between funny and rude.
And the thin line gets obscured when a fat man stands too close to it.