Spring Cleaning

Losing weight can be laborious. Nonetheless, it has its perks. Nothing so uplifts the soul as having a co-worker notice changes.

"Wow! You look great...new haircut?"

OK, the intent there was positive, but not everyone notices weight loss specifically; yet compliments are passed and encouragement is provided, lightening the load.

Conversely, whereby achievement of the goal is exhilarating; maintenance is boring in comparison - which is why so many say it's harder to keep the weight of than it is to lose it. However, if ye seek, thrills shall be uncovered.

Case in point; I bought new dress pants. Maybe that's not exciting. (Well, maybe it is; they were marked down to $11.99!) Shortly before my shopping extravaganza, I read an interview with Matt Lauer. It's not that I hang on Matt's every thought; I mean, mostly I like him and all. But what attracted me to this article was Matt's "one in, one out" rule. If he buys something new -- a tie, a shirt, a suit -- something old goes. Says Mr. Lauer, "I avoid clutter, crammed closets and drawers. [This rule] keeps things in balance."

This had great appeal as I am constantly battling "clutter creep;" you know, that condition where the wee crevices of my living quarters fill; soon untidiness swells into larger areas, eventually overcoming all available space. Before one can say, "Where did I put my keys?" he is overcome by an anamorphic blob of non-working electronics, piles of files, and of course... clothes one intends to get back into "one of these days." Usually, such apparel resides at the back of the closet; friendless, forgotten, and forlorn (yet in great shape from lack of wear).

So, while purchasing my under $12 pair of pants, I remembered Matt's counsel; and upon arriving home, fought my way to the rear of the closet, wrestling with seventies bell bottoms, platform shoes, and wide lapel sport coats.

Lo and behold, thrust forth from this fabric jungle emerges a pair of brown pants, circa 1997. Pulling them from the hanger, I announced to my lovely wife, "I'm going to get rid of these."

"Why?"

"Because Matt Lauer said so."

"Matt Lauer told you to get rid of your pants?"

Instead of recapping his sage insights, I returned to the task at hand, until I realized they were in fantastic shape. Maybe I should try them on?

Sure 'nuff, fitting as a charm, they slid comfortably over my keyster and buckled smoothly upon my waist. While admiring my reflection of a past fashion age, my wife reminded me, "I thought you were going to get rid of those."

"But they fit so nicely -- and they're in good shape. Think I should keep them?"

"They do look nice," she agreed, "Are they made of polyester?" (She has a thing about polyester. If she could go back in time and annihilate those who invented it, I think she just might have done it.)

"I don't know. Take a look."

Evidently, they passed the non-polyester test, so I sit at my computer today, adorned comfortably in first-rate apparel from days of yore. Yet, sadness softly looms, because somewhere, somehow, I know Matt Lauer is disappointed in me.