BY JOE HUDSON 

I was on the front porch when you drove by and I waved, appreciative of several things about you that are admirable — pleasant personality, winning smile, your great taste in reading material, and I must admit, your love handles.

Wait. Love handles? Explain, you say.

Despite pressure by Hollywood and the media that we should all look slim, thin, and even emaciated, I want to set the record straight: There is nothing wrong with love handles. Nothing. It’s no big deal. Practically everyone has them. I have a generous pair. When I power walk at the beach, it looks like two basset hound cheeks flapping above my waist.

I’ve come to realize that love handles, like a family picture album, tell a lot about a person. Love handles are the side effects of good times, of ice cream shops, hot pastrami sandwiches, biscuits with molasses, and God’s comfort food to those who call Statesville home — Daylight Donuts. Love handles tell people I’ve enjoyed life and that there’s a good chance the handles and I are up for most anything. We love parties, late night waffles, and birthday cakes. We eat pies and fresh-baked cookies. And we see nothing wrong with dipping garlic bread into a pot of spaghetti sauce while our spouse and dinner guests are yakking it up in the living room.

That’s why I’m glad, dear reader, that you have the handles too. I know right off we can be good friends. People with six-pack abs think fun is exercising until their stomach is hard enough to crack walnuts on. However, people with love handles can appreciate putting on mitts and baking a good pan of cinnamon buns.

So, yeah, we’re going to be a bit chubby, but that’s not a bad thing. Most people over 40 are either really fat, sort of fat, or trying not to be fat. Either way, fat is part of life. You’re a grown-up now. It’s all right. So what if you don’t have the body of an Olympic swimmer. You’re not an Olympic swimmer; you’re Bob from accounting. You wear khakis and you haven’t seen your belt buckle since the Obama administration. Same as me. It’s okay; you’re still a wonderful person. Our minds are our worst critics.

Do you know why we have love handles? Because we’re lucky.

We’re the first generation of humanity that doesn’t have to gather or hunt to survive. Food is always within arm’s reach or just a phone call away. We live in a country where most homes are climate controlled so every day is perfect and conducive to snacking.

Besides, fitness is now a marketing ploy driven by special watches and devices that count your daily steps as “real exercise.” Get it?

“I just walked from the parking lot to my cubicle. That’s 80 steps!”

“Good job, Janice. You’re an athlete now. You should run the 10K. You’ll be needing some workout shorts and matching tops.”

Your handles are part of the journey of life. I’m 72, and you and I know these aren’t the Best Years of Our Life, but there’s no need to endure it on an empty stomach. I’m on the homeward leg of life where you’re stuck in an airport, your belt has been X-rayed for warhead missiles, your flight is delayed, and you’re trapped in a lounge full of idiots with cell phones and voices like weed eaters.

So, you take life head on.

You don’t get to be old by putting on a smiley face. What keeps us going is righteous anger at over-sized pick-up trucks, ugly buildings, and small print. Also, the occasional consumption of a delicious glazed donut does wonders. Did I mention Daylight Donuts?

I don’t care if we both look like a watermelon wearing sandals. I’ve never seen a jogger that looks happy. I think you’re complete. We both have nothing to worry about. Stay well, do good, and enjoy your lunch.

Readers can write to Joe at Joehudsn@gmail.com and Facebook (View from the Hudson). He is author of “Big Decisions are Best Made with Hot Dogs” and “A View from the Front Porch.”