I was lying in bed last night when I realised that my backside was sore.
I lay there, wracking my brain, trying to recollect whether I, inadvertently, might have lifted something heavy in an irresponsibly bum-unfriendly way.
Err, well that would be a no, the heaviest thing I generally lift is the kettle.
Had I accidentally been belted in the back by an extremely heavy safe door or fallen down a ludicrously huge flight of stairs recently?
I lay there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, blinking back panic as I wondered if sore bum-cheeks were one of those things they’ve made a television advert about lately, like the three-week cough or the difficulty in doing a number-two-poo, because in all the ads, the culprit is generally (sshhh, can’t say it too loud in case it hears me…) cancer.
Then it dawned on me, I have a sneaking suspicion that I might know what the problem is.
My Day-Job means, that unlike times past, I’m never actually off my arse these days.
I get up in the morning, admittedly vertical for a couple of minutes there while the kettle boils, then I sit down and watch Breakfast for ten minutes or so while Annabelle sings and I drink my coffee, lip-read what the Breakfast team are saying, and try to drown out aforementioned singing.
I get dressed; again a fleeting couple of minutes there where I’m upright, then I revert to form and sit back down to do my make-up (and that).
Walk to the car (upright), drive to work (arse-based), walk from the car to the office (upright), sit down at my desk (you, I’m sure are getting the picture).
In the evenings the process is reversed, with the obvious substitution of my sofa for my desk-chair.
As a result, not only is my bum becoming more Jennifer-Lopez-ish, it’s also apparently, getting muscle fatigue.
This seems, to me at least, yet another good reason why Day-Jobs are bad news. Not only are they time-consuming, inflexible and responsible for taking a huge wedge out of your right to daytime TV viewing, they are, in addition and quite frighteningly, bad for your arse.
I have no idea how to respond to the needs of my backside.
Even if I managed to squeeze fifteen minutes of exercise into my hectic schedule of sitting on my rump all day, it still wouldn’t answer the problem of the vast volume of time that day-to-day life forces me to spend, well, on it.
I desperately need a solution before all this ‘Xtreme-Bum-Parking’ has irreparable consequences for my (even if I do say so myself) rather cute little tushi.
Having a Day-Job; good(ish) for your bank balance, (very) bad for your figure.
Is it all worth it.
You really have to wonder?