A friend gave me an early birthday card: On it, an obese woman in a robe stood on the scales, her breasts pointing downward like two giant cones. The caption read: "Your body is a temple."
At one time, my body was a temple, an alabaster monument of toned flesh and muscle. Any more, that temple is more of a ruin. That once toned flesh and muscle has given way to flabby flesh and mushy muscles.
Age, time, and gravity took their toll, along with a fondness for cheesecake. As I've said before, I'm mostly okay with that. After all, even the Parthenon started to crumble.
Occasionally, though, I long for that temple of my youth. Ah well, bodily temples are overrated.