Damien Walters and I – Separated at Birth. Obviously.

I don’t need to say much about today’s post. The remarkable, ridunkulous, crazypants human body in this clip will speak for itself. Damien, dude. I want to be you. Especially now as I feel my years piling up on top of the nausea my boys brought home from school for me this week. Naturally I have been surfing YouTube all day. (I’m lying. Spent the day running around like the proverbial Mom-Chicken trying to figure out why I felt so lousy, until it occurred to me that my sick boys probably gave me something. And it wasn’t a string of pearls. Or a note of adoration. Or a pound of chocolate. It was little ooshy tummy germs. Bleah. They also gave me this YouTube clip. But it’s cool. Because Damien is totally the cure for ooshy tummy germs. Seriously. Watch:)

That, my dears, is gorgeous. The fluidity of movement. The strength. The control. The abs, er, I mean *cough*Married*cough*, The covet-worthy coolness of changing trajectory mid-air. Man. As my littlest child-person said, that would come in handy. I dont know where, but it would. Probably in a Walmart on Black Friday. I NEED to be able to fly like a butterfly and sting like a bee á la Damien Walters.

Sigh. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to settle for this:

Abs of cheese sauce, that’s what those are, my people. And vocal chords of velvet. I mean, did you hear that little shriek that sounded like a chew-toy going through a rock crusher? This is why I am paid the medium bucks, folks.

But in truth, I can totally do what Mr. Damien does. I’ll show you sometime. When I’m not, you know, sick. Or busy. Or writing a novel. Or blogging. Or, like, raising kids and being a veritable Donna Reed. Or knitting doggie cozies. Yeah. When I’m done with that? Call me.