By Larry Flesler, Special Get Fit Series

I never have liked my legs, they look like two hairy tree stumps.  Add my varicose veins, cellulite and blotchy skin and it makes for a nasty combination.  Every time I wear my short shorts, my daughter says my legs look like Ricotta Cheese packed into a plastic bag.

I’m not real sure how to get them in shape so I called my pal Van who just happens to have the fabulous legs of a ballerina.

Van showed up an hour later already in his leg-workout gear.  He was wearing a sweatshirt that had the neck and sleeves cut out and white skin tight dancers leggings.  I noticed they were a bit threadbare and also that he did not appear to be wearing any undergarments.  He came in the house, sat down and removed his boots and promptly put on a pair of shoes with 4″ spike heels.  “These shoes are the secret to great legs,” Van exclaimed.  “I wear them every morning when I walk the dog and go mall walking,” he continued.  “Don’t you get some curious looks?” I asked.  “That’s why I wear my full length white fur coat so people don’t know it’s me,” he replied.

We then hopped in the car and Van drove us to the mall.  We stopped in Payless Shoes where Van picked out three different styles of women’s shoes for me to try on, each pair with heels longer than the one before.  We sat down and Van flagged over an employee.  “Can you help my friend try these on?” he asked.  “Uuh, yeah, I guess so,” said Emily (per her name tag).  Emily was about 65 with grayish blue hair and penciled-in eyebrows that made her look like she was permanently startled.  She also had a fake tan that resembled the color of a traffic cone.  I could tell that Van was instantly smitten.

She never asked why I was looking at the women’s high heels as she seemed preoccupied with Van’s see-through leggings.

As I was about to remove my leather boots I remembered that I hadn’t showered and that these boots always made my feet smell like dirty diapers mixed with cabbage.  I tried to warn her but she grabbed my foot and yanked off the boot.  The odor was unbearable.  Emily instantly fell to the floor and asked if a terrorist had set off a tear gas bomb.  Van jumped on her to console her as I quickly put my boot back on.  He started rubbing her back, one thing led to another and they ended up playing slap and tickle under his fur coat for the next twenty minutes.

I excused myself and asked another employee if I could see the black gladiator style high heels in an 11 1/2 extra wide.  To my surprise they had them in stock.  I went into the middle of the mall, put them on and started my workout.  I made it about three feet, took a violent tumble and was knocked out when my head smashed against the tiled floor.  When I awoke, Van was cradling my head and tending to the 4″ gash on my forehead.

Blood was all over his white, full-length fur and half of Emily’s makeup was now smeared on Van.  A small crowd had gathered and was trying to make sense out of what they were seeing.  Me, wearing high heels and bleeding profusely,  Emily with half of her makeup gone and Van in his white fur coat, half of his “coin purse” visible through his torn leggings.

Next week: forearms.