When I was three or four years old, obsessed with Sesame Street and sporting a kid-version of a she-mullet, I had several nicknames. They spanned from my personal favorites: Suzy-Q and Sweet Sue, to my family's favorites: Pukey-Sue, Poopimi (don't ask) and, the bane of my young life, Refrigerator Perry. To those non-football buffs, this would be the 350-pound defensive lineman for the Chicago Bears during the mid-80s.

Now, I know that I was a slightly rotund child; I enjoyed food. In fact, much of my life at the time was centered on it.

At any given moment my face would be covered with the chocolate from Popums, those delightful chocolate-covered donut holes.

I named my clothes after my favorite condiments and entrees. I had a yellow sweater aptly named, the "mustard shirt," and a red sweater the color of, well, Campbell's tomato soup. I even named globe-shaped streetlights after meatballs.

Yep, if any tyke deserved to be called "Fridge" by their older brother, I was the perfect candidate. According to my family, though, I didn't take lightly being likened to a football player; I always referred to myself as being "soft."

Well, you know what's coming: I grew older and became increasingly self-conscience about my body and obsessed with weight from early childhood trauma.

Ha! You've never even met me and already you find me boring and predictable. I'll show you predictable.

I never had a bathroom scale in my house, so usually the only time I had an accurate reading on weight was during my infrequent visits to the doctor's office.

You can imagine my surprise the last time I went to the doctor's and weighed 135 pounds. Holy hell! Where did that 70 pounds come from? Oh yea, puberty.

According to former U.S. Surgeon General David Satcher there is an "obesity epidemic" sweeping the country as we speak.

Everyone should be concerned that fat is airborne now. (Picture the gymnasium grease fight from The Simpsons.) People concerned about coming down with soft should probably stay inside; Big Macs and fries are especially aggressive forms of the virus.

Those who are slightly self-conscience about their body image -- I'm guessing a large portion of the readers -- and who don't want to quarantine themselves, or maybe don't even really want to change their sorta soft physique, here are a few suggestions:

Buy pants slightly larger than you normally wear. If they are too big, sweet. If they are snug and you're a woman, it's "menstrual bloating." If you are a man who just spent a weekend eating nachos, drinking beer and watching football, it's Man Fat; be proud of it.

Don't obsess about your Body Mass Index (ratio of weight to height). Take note that muscular and athletic people tend to have a higher BMI, even though they are not unhealthily overweight. Just assume that applies to you. Those aren't love handles; they are barbells of steel.

Michelob Ultra offers a low-carb beer now, the perfect way to hydrate yourself after a strenuous workout or to consume beer somewhat within the bounds of the Atkins diet. Added bonus: Consistent consumption of alcohol is good for your heart.

If you want to deal with your softness without the hassles of diet and exercise, the IRS is now counting weight loss expenses as a medical deduction. The best thing to do in this situation is buy even amounts of Lipitor and Ben & Jerry's Concession Obsession. This way you can stay happily soft while screwing the government.

Remember: Soft=huggable.