Charlie’s ab

Charlie, a somewhat overweight fifty something is in the shower. He peers down at his feet and exclaims “A Nab!”

“I can’t believe it, I have a Nab!” he thought, “It’s not much, but it is a nab. I remember seeing one there when I was a young man.”

Charlie could not keep this good news to himself. Throwing on a pair of boxer shorts, he headed downstairs.

“You guys won’t believe this, but I, Charlie Cormack of Washburn street, Cincinatti have a Nab!” he bragged, to his wife and teen-aged son.

“So you had a nap, big deal. You are old, old guys always take afternoon naps on Sunday afternoon.” said his son, in a discouraging manner.

“Not a Nap, a Nab, you know, Abdominal Muscles. I have one! Want to see it?”  he asked.

Of course his kid wanted no part of this. For all he was concerned, this was gross and he wanted nothing to do with it, even if his father did have an ab.

Jenny Cormack wanted to see it, Charlie’s long suffering wife remembers a much thinner (but certainly not muscular) Charlie, the handsome young man she walked down the aisle with so many years ago.

“Where is it?” She asked.

“Here, let me suck in my gut for a minute. You have to bend over, look towards my feet, it’s right there.” he said, proudly.

“I don’t see anything except for that small lump below your belly button, you should probably see a doctor about that, it could turn into something” she said.

“It’s not a lump, it’s a Nab.”

“I have been working out you know, at work. I always take the stairs!” he bragged.

The next day, Charlie was up early. Jenny was awaken by her husband’s wheezes. He was on the floor, doing pushups.

“Gotta keep that Ab, maybe I can find more. Who knows, by next week, maybe I will have a six pack.”

Jenny knew Charlie all  too well. This kind of stuff happened every January. She also knew that the only six pack Charlie was going to bring home would be the six cans of his favourite beer he guzzles every Friday evening. Like every year, she didn’t say anything.

He was out the door in a breeze, briefcase behind him, almost slamming into he door. He was at work early, the first time since last January, and was set up on his computer, ready to start work by 8:30, half an hour early.

When the company coffee break arrived, Charlie was in the middle of the crowd at the coffee machine. Georgette, the boss’ secretary, with her big hair and tight dress was standing next to Charlie.

“I have abs” he bragged, “Well, at least one. I work out you know” he flirted.

“You have abs? You? I doubt that. Flabs maybe, but you certainly don’t have abs.Just look at yourself, you are fat!” Georgette said, in her usual snotty manner.

“What Gym do you work out at?” she asked. “Gym? I have no time for those things. I work out here at work!” he said.

“How do you work out here? We have no gym here.” she said.

“I take the stairs!”

“The only stairs is the three step stair that leads to the vending machine. You go there three times each day, to buy chips and bars, that isn’t working out!” she corrected.

“Hey, that’s nine stairs per day. It’s still exercise, I could take the elevator, if we had one, but I choose to take the stairs, and that’s why I have this ab!” Charlie said.

“It isn’t exercise, it’s poor eating!” she argued.

Charlie didn’t care. He was convinced that he was in shape. After all, he did have a Nab.



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