Mirror, Mirror

I am going to have fun this week.

If you can't laugh at cancer, why even have it?

I really can't be clearer

in what I'm telling you;

when feeling down, I get a mirror

and just enjoy the view.

It's not that I'm good looking;

I've left that term behind

with biceps that are cooking,

and smile to eas'ly blind

someone who had not the sense

to quickly don their shades.

I really do not mean offense,

but the way that I was made

puts me upon a GQ page

while others simply show their age.

Last week I referenced high fevers and the old fried-egg-this-is-your-brain-on-drugs commercial...well, here's the link!

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is COMPROMISE. That's a big word. I like small words better, so...

You may sigh and roll your eyes,

and whisper that I'm odd,

but I don't think I'll compromise

with life, the world, or God.

I've seen fashions come and go

(and most are better gone),

but there's one that lets me know

the planet that I'm on,

so bring gold chains, slick back the hair,

button silk shirt halfway up,

channel Travolta through Astaire

and drink deep of the disco cup

because I am a true believer

in Bee Gees and the Sat Night Fever.

There! Five minutes, and with a squirrelly brain keypad too!

Appropriate music for today can only come from Right Said Fred.

And in the interest of transparency, I do still work out and eat right (and, yes, both REALLY hurt), and do look a bit like this bloke in the video (think Asian, shoulder-length dark hair with fashionable sun highlights, and NO I will not post a picture).

Well, OK. Here's a picture. It's just not a picture of me.

Sylvia would roll her eyes (as Barb is doing as I write), but she could thereby miss a lick of ice cream to the Chihuahua Pirates.