I am holding my breath, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, while my daughter wraps a measuring tape around what used to be my waist.

Recently, I discovered that in order to live a long and healthy life, one’s waist measurement should be no more than half of one’s height. In my case, that’s 33.5 inches.

(I’ll pause at this juncture so you can do the math for your own girth. Go ahead, take your time. Use a calculator, if you like.)

“Tighter! C’mon, PULL!” I command her, as I start to hallucinate ever so slightly. (Is that a white light I see, or has Elvis come to take me home?)

According to Dr. Mehmet Oz, the affable and now-famous author and Oprah’s personal physician, what you weigh is far less important than the size of your omentum.

My o-WHAT-em, you ask?

The omentum is an organ whose soul purpose in life is to store blubber in your belly. When an omentum is plump with fat, other organs (such as the heart) have easy access to it and can help themselves, much like a Chinese dinner buffet. Not a good thing, even at $6.99.

“OK, OK!” I gasp. “I can’t feel my legs. Quick! What does it say?”

My daughter reads the number aloud then releases the tape. I slump to the floor, choking for air.

Sitting there, clutching my throat, I take a moment to consider the challenge ahead of me, and how badly we need to replace the family room carpet.

I won’t say how many inches I need to whittle from my middle, but it’s less than 4 and more than, well, 2.

Argh! And I was feeling so smug about the pounds I’ve dropped in the past six months simply by cutting calories and taking a regular stroll on the treadmill. But, noooooo! Apparently, that’s not ENOUGH when you’re over 50.

“No worries, Mom,” my daughter says. “All you gotta do is a few …”

“STOP! Don’t say it! We do NOT use that kind of language in this house, young lady!”

She walks out of the room rolling her eyes, but I know what she was going to say. The dreaded, despicable word echoes in my mind: “Sit-ups … sit-ups … sit-ups :” Those miserable, sinister, gut-searing exercises – the bane of my existence since seventh-grade gym class.

Sighing, I lie back on the rug, placing my hands behind my neck. Groaning like an Olympic weightlifter, I strain, shake and slo-o-o-wly pull my chin up to my bent knees.

“ONE!”

I collapse to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the tape.

“Honey, come back!” I cry. “Mom’s ready to be re-measured!”

– Cathy Hamilton is host of “Home & Away” on Sunflower Broadband Channel 6 and a 51-year-old empty-nester. Events recounted here may be embellished, exaggerated or completely made up because she can’t remember squat anymore.