Body for Life" program. As a result, he’s developed muscles, and therefore cannot stop gazing lovingly at himself in the mirror. It was bad enough when he’d spend the entire day looking at his biceps, poking at them, tapping them, and then kissing them. I’m not kidding, people, he’d kiss his biceps from time to time. He claimed that he was only doing it to annoy me, but you really have to wonder, don’t you? The last thing I do before climbing into bed is to put on my nightgown and pee. This particular sequence of events has become rather difficult to complete, since he’s inevitably standing in front of the mirror, gazing at his muscular arms, his muscular chest and – heaven help me – the baby six pack he realized over the weekend that he’d developed. Twenty-six thousand times I have been the witness to his yanking up his shirt and looking at his stomach. After looking down at his stomach for a few minutes, he then counts the six bulging muscles. Onetwothreefourfivesix, yep still all there! He also likes to puff out his stomach so that he looks like he’s 6 months pregnant, then rub it while tightening it until his six pack is visible again. When following him from one room to another, I have to make sure there’s a good six feet of distance between us, since he enjoys stopping in his tracks, striking a pose, and looking down at the muscles which have developed on his calves and thighs. When we’re sitting in the living room, he’ll reach out and hook his foot under my knee, then lift my leg up. I thought it was a love-pat sort of thing, until he informed me that he was doing it because it made his muscles pop out, which he would then sit there and admire. My husband, Narcissus. I’m going to start sneaking pounds of lard into his food… ]]>