Right to bare arms causes near-disaster

I was driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway this morning, peaceful and relaxed. It was so quiet and beautiful. Everything was green and lush. Pink and white rhododendrons were peeking out from behind the pine trees. Dappled sunlight fell, making twisted shadow patterns onto the road ahead. Ahhh, so nice.

But I almost got into an accident because I looked down for a split second to see if my arms looked fat. In fact, I almost drove off the edge of the road. Because I just had to know. Was it true that after a few months, my arms had multiplied in size? Or was it just a nightmare? Sadly, it was all too true - my arms were indeed ridiculously large.

You could practically wrap a man-sized belt around one of my arms…only one time around. To be perfectly frank, I don’t think the nurse will be able to get a blood pressure band around either of these two monstrosities – my arms - at my next physical.

Why did nobody warn me that 42 is the year during which one develops fat arms and that such a phenomenon could happen in just a few months?

And where, for the love of God, am I going to find a bathing suit with long sleeves?

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