Once you told me, long ago, when we first started dating,

That we could buy a house one day, and there commence our mating.

But you said first to tone that body, neck to flabby thigh,

You’ve got to be in better shape if you want to catch my eye.

I hoisted iron, I humped and pumped. I put ripples in my trunk,

I became an aerobics instructor; and, in short, became a hunk.

It’s a habit for me, now. I have little fat left to burn,

Now I’m happy with myself. Baby, now it’s your turn.

Come and take my class with me. I’ll check and tell you when.

But I can’t go, I have my reasons. Here, I’ll give you ten.

Number ten, I’d love to go, but I’d anticipate the worst,

I can’t put on that Spandex stuff without being shape first.

Number nine, is fitness angst. The part I’ve always hated,

I can’t do your class with you, I’m too uncoordinated.

Number eight, to cut this out, would be tantamount to joking.

For me to do your class with you, I’d have to give up smoking.

Number seven, I can’t go, don’t make me go there Please,

I detect a stiff affliction in my neck and in my knees.

Number six. I have no time. I’d only be a novice,

With all that busy work I do, I get a work out at the office.

Number five concerns the things that you have but I lack.

For I have no endorphines. That’s why I’m on prozac.

Number four. Feeling silly and old. There’s just too much to


That brings us down to number three. Someone stole my shoes.

Number two, none of my friends are into this but you,

There’s nobody to go with. Dating the instructor wouldn’t do.

That brings us down to number one. My anonymity.

I can’t do your class with you. Everyone will notice me.


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