Belly buster isn’t about what to eat, or what not to eat. Nor is it an exercise to combat stubborn belly fat. There is, however, a new and unproven fad product on the market called, Fat Water you might want to look into. If you are combating belly fat, you can do what some do, which is to eat less, exercise more, relax and enjoy your life.
Belly buster is a poker term.
I had some time on my hands this weekend, so I finally got around to unpacking a few boxes that had been sitting untouched, collecting dust, for nearly two years.
The boxes contents were primarily books. As I put the books into cabinets and onto shelves, I came across a memoir about Stuey Ungar, who was some great poker player. I don’t play poker, so I didn’t know, nor did I know why the book was packed in with Pema Chodron, the Great American Songbook and Anne Lamott.
I opened the cover, and leafed through the first few pages and came across an inscription. My inscription. It was inscribed to my ex. I had completely forgotten that I had bought the book for him.
My first thought was, my god I have horrible penmanship. It looks like a drunken third grader had scribbled it. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea that kids aren’t being taught penmanship in schools. Keyboards are definitely the way to go.
As I read my pithy remarks, a wave of sentimentality washed over me, and a smile came to my face. Who was that person so willingly blinded by love and who was all-in? I recognized myself in the words but I was split, as if I was straddling the past and the present. Split but no longer stuck. The inscription was both pithy and amusing. Yes, even in book inscriptions, I cannot hide the funny.
I must have grabbed the book by accident when I had folded and cashed out (not at all) and skedaddled out of the house, what now feels like a lifetime ago. There, in those few short sentences, was a summation of our relationship on the river.
My words explained why I bought the book, as I wanted him to see, that it came from my heart, and my intention was well meaning. I wanted him to read more. I threw in a couple of supportive compliments, and then buttoned it up in a kicker punch line.
There was something familiarly sweet about it. It’s just the way that I rap. I’m going to do him a solid, and drop it off at his daughter’s place, so she can return it to him. It’s less than thirty miles away from me, and why should he re-buy the book.
It’s the right thing to do. Besides, I’m not a monster and I’m merely playing the hand that I was dealt.
What are the odds that I would be able to fit in all of those poker terms into this post?