Puberty II

When I was in fifth grade, they took us on a field trip to the Robert Crown center, where we learned about the upcoming changes that we could expect our bodies to undergo, better known as puberty. The nice lady explained that puberty can begin as early as ten years old, and last as long as twenty-five. Well, about a decade after going through full-blown puberty, I feel like I'm living the sequel. So many changes to my body; except these aren't the changes an adult male looks forward to. 

For one thing, I never had a bad case of acne growing up. A pimple here and there, sure. NOW I'm breaking out like a teenage fry cook. I cannot explain how embarrassing it is for a grown man to wear cover-up; especially if it is cover-up that some drunk, party girl left at his apartment in college.

I was never an overly hairy individual, and this pleased me. In fact, I had relatively no hair on my legs until I started shaving them for swimming. NOW I feel like Teenwolf. Since I've been told that men go bald if the men on their mother's said went bald, I fear that as well. I feel like every hair on my head has either put in for a transfer to currently hairless parts of my body, or are retiring altogether. It is only a matter of time before the transfers are all approved, leaving me bald as a snake, but hairy as a marmot:

"Well, I see that you've put in 25 good years atop Sam's head, and that is enough to retire. Might I suggest though going south to Sam's ass to fill a senior position we ave open there? It is wide open right now, and only getting bigger. We could use some good hairs like you down there, and in a short while we'll have a great team assembled around you. That's a promise."

 I'm still eating like a 15 year old, except the twist in Puberty II is that my metabolism is dramatically slower. Not only that, but the amount and level of exercise needed for me to feel good about myself is becoming less and less everyday. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when I would feel like an absolute panty-waist if I didn't clock 18 hours a week in either pool or gym. NOW, I spent 25 minutes reading a women's health magazine on an elliptical machine, then jump some rope and I feel like I can eat three personal pan pizzas. So, just like a teenage boy, I'm gaining weight- but not in a good way. When a man my age steps on the scale and it reads that you've gained a pound, you think, "Well, shit. I'm a big muscular dude." When he steps on that same scale and it reads that you've lost a pound, you think, "Well shit, I'm getting cut as hell." One way or another, the man feels content enough to not give a shit about his routines.

My eyes constantly look tired. When you wake up feeling completely refreshed and people look at you like you're cripplingly hungover, you have to pretend to be. Yes, that's right, I don't normally look like this (but as it turns out, I do). If it continues to get worse, I'm going to chew on costume blood capsules and tell people that I'm in an underground fight club, and "You should see the other guy.".

Everything that they (adult men) have said to me would happen, is happening. It is easy to think "Well, that won't be me; I workout, eat right, and won't let myself go to shit like you say" when you're 22. Three short years later, the responsibilities that I've acquired along the way have left me to see the prophecy unfolding in front of the mirror every morning.

So here I am, stuck in Puberty II- A 25 year-old man that needs to be sheered like a fat, soon to be bald sheep. I cook breakfast for my fiancee every morning, walk her to the bus stop, and try to make her laugh as much as possible. Now you know why- there are some handsome-ass dudes out there.