It’s been terrific fun.
Really…. the joy of a lifetime.
But all good things have to end sometime and now is the time to pull the plug.
The last eleven months have been wonderful. I have eaten everything and anything I wanted. “Wanna make a pie and eat the entire thing in one night?”
Done.
“Hey… here’s a recipe for quadruple cheese enchiladas with a side of enchiladas. Doesn’t that sound good for dinner?”
“Dinner?
Why wait. It’s 3:30 in the afternoon.
Let’s have them NOW! We’ll think of something else for dinner!”
Lunch became whatever was unlucky enough to linger in the fridge. Leftover tuna salad with sweet pickles, a chicken wing and two hard boiled eggs? That may not sound like a balanced meal…but if you put them all in a bowl and mash it down with a wooden spoon and cover it with an enchilada…you can balance it on your lap while you watch the Great British Bake Off and…voila!! It balances!
I have spent a great portion of my adult life hovering around the 200 pound mark.
To console myself during the pandemic, I told myself that eating whatever I wanted was a form of therapy. It was a “If I don’t take care of me…who will?” philosophy. You know. Bullshit.
I am currently hovering at about 465 pounds. Give or take. This cannot stand. Come to think of it…I cannot stand. It has to be some sort of warning sign when you need to Crisco the door jamb to get in and out of the bathroom, right?
So playtime is over.
Exercise. Portion control. Discipline.
These will now be the words by which I live. (If it can be called living.)
The pie and enchiladas will still be there once I am back to my fighting weight. (That’s what I tell myself even though I happen to know from certain Internet websites that liberals will be banning pie in August of this year. Damn cancel culture.)
So wish me luck. I know a lot of you out there are also struggling with what they laughingly refer to as the “Covid 165.”