Last week I looked at the hula hoop leaning lazily against my bedroom door. I looked at myself in my floor length mirror, sucked my belly in and was saddened to see that my once-slim waist was still pinchable. I decided it was time to begin a hula hoop regimen to take care of that. A half hour a day, I thought, should do the trick. Fifteen minutes in each direction. I turned on the tv to watch a lithe Nicole Kidman in some movie, as motivation. A half hour later I felt great! But the next day, not so much. I’d forgotten that my back was 74 years old. I’m afraid that fad is for kids.