Luv Doc: Supermodel Shape

Dear Luv Doc,

Speaking of New Year's resolutions, my wife and I started going to the gym last October because, to be honest, we had both put on too much weight to just hope it would go away. We had a personal trainer initially, and once she got the ball rolling we continued on – or at least I did. My wife stopped going just before the holidays. She said she had too much to do. When New Year's rolled around, I asked her if she was going to start working out with me again, and she said that "it's not really her thing" and that she might try doing a dance class or something.

She hasn't been to a dance class yet and she hasn't mentioned it. She has also put on more weight just in the small amount of time she hasn't been going to the gym. What do I do? Should I talk to her about it? I don't want to make her feel bad, but I think she needs to start soon or her weight is going to get out of hand.

– Mr. Chubby

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Man, I feel fairly certain that if you could somehow get inside your wife's brain and take control you could whip her into supermodel shape in no time. While you're at it, you could probably get her to try some really freaky sexual stuff – the kind of insanely acrobatic, tantrically orgiastic scenarios that for most people only exist in the theoretical realm or perhaps in certain foreboding corners of the dark web. Hey, might as well tick off all the items on your sexual bucket list while you have the chance, right? Carpe diem!

You've probably already guessed there is a huge flaw in this scheme: Controlling someone's brain is damn near impossible. Note that I am not saying completely impossible, just really, really unlikely. I mean, I have seen some documentaries where people like the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh get all up into people's heads and get them to do all manner of crazy shit, but it sounds to me like your wife might be a little different than the average moony-eyed, punch-drinking cult follower. Sounds to me like you got yourself an independent thinker. Goddammit, why does this love shit always have to be so hard?

Anyway, as I sit here flexing my six-pack abs (here's the thing: Pretty much everybody has six-pack abs. It's just a matter of how insulated you like to keep your six-pack), I know that, short of an extended stay in a concentration camp, I am probably never going to see them again other than in a CAT scan. Why? Because while I have an aesthetic appreciation for chiseled anatomy, I don't have the desire to chisel my own. I've got other shit to do, and that other shit is tacos, tequila, and the occasional bowl of queso.

So if you were to say to me, "Luv Doc, let's go to the gym every day and see if we can chisel your abs," I would politely decline. However, if you were to say you would like me to go to the gym with you because you not only enjoy my company, but being with me inspires you to go to the gym and therefore makes you a healthier, happier person, I would say, "Where's my hernia truss?" You feel me? I thought so.