One could say Louis Schmidt is an optimist.   However they, too, might likely be conned into a similar fate of relinquishing several thousand dollars in hopes of “a guaranteed growth of two inches more.”

“Honestly, stepping forward with egg on my face is pretty humbling,” the watch collector began.  “But not more humbling than accepting I’ll be this size forever.”  Driven to search for answers, Schimdt was among the bottom five percentile of men over the age of 25 who’d suffered from Undeveloped Wrist Syndrome.  While most may not even realize how they compare, he was keen to the truth and more than eager to believe that there had now been a choice.  

“You know what defeat looks like?  I do.”  Schmidt nudged his glasses back into place.  “It’s removing all the links of your Speedy’s bracelet only to find it didn’t count for jack sh*t.  Or knowing you’ll always be fodder for trolls on your Insta-feed.  Yes, I know it’s a Baby G-shock.  Yes, I can actually lift my arm while wearing it.  No, I’ve zero interest in modeling watches you wanna buy for your wife.”  He probed a finger between the gap of his supple wrist and the last hole punctured of a suede strap.  “One guy even asked if I had an Only Fans account.”

So when Schmidt came across a social media ad offering an out, he took it.  “Yes,” he said, recalling the pitch with affirmation.  “I want to enhance my girth-worth and regain my confidence… rediscover interests like hiking, laughing over cocktails, or pillow fights… all the normal wristed things.”

But becoming normal-wristed, he would not.

“Twenty-five hundred bucks and nothing,” he lamented.  “Nada.  As in Duped.  Bamboozled.  Hoodwinked.  Hornswoggled!”  He flailed his objectively slender wrists in the air.  “This is me, this is my life now.”

While “results may vary” was asterisked in the advertisement, the company was unavailable to comment. 

Not one to go quiet into the night, Schmidt vowed a Shakesperian utterance before retrieving his smart phone.  His blog awaited him.

Leave a Comment