At first I thought I may have unknowingly been taking steroids. Then I thought perhaps it was my son’s shirt. Or about anybody else’s shirt but mine. By the time I realized what happened, I was already in my car and several miles down the road and already running a little late so I was stuck.
I tried best I could to conceal the issue by standing as straight as possible and sucking in my stomach and trying to look like I wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as I appeared to people looking at me and noticing my overly-strained shirt buttons trying not to snap off if I exhaled too fully.
I tried to give a look to others that said, “This shirt fits me fine. It really does. I may have picked up 2 or 3 extra pounds over the holidays that may make it seem a little tighter today than it really is. But that is just for today and a silly holiday thing. This shirt fits great and is shaped perfectly for me.” That is a really hard look to maintain for nearly 13 hours. Heck, that’s a hard look to maintain for 13 minutes. Or even 13 seconds.
But I did it anyway. Which says something about me. Mostly that I am able to go nearly 13 consecutive hours taking only short shallow breaths.