Y’all, I can pass right on by the fried chicken and the french fries and the mozzarella cheese sticks and anything else that’s cooked in fat and sold in fast food restaurants. But Jesus on a bicycle with no helmet, I cannot pass by the Sixlets…or actually any chocolate, come to think of it. And the soft serve vanilla ice cream? To echo a certain badly written Twilight character, it’s my own personal brand of heroin.
I’ve done so well in the last few weeks. I managed to get ten pounds down after our return home from the beach. But today has not been good. I went grocery shopping with my step-daughter, and ended up buying all that cheap, nutrient-void junk food that tastes so good you just can’t make yourself stop eating it till it’s gone. Long story short, I ended up going over my calories for the day by 200. Tomorrow is likely to be more of the same, and probably worse; it’s my step-son’s birthday, and there’s a damn Dairy Queen ice cream cake in the freezer. I probably don’t need to tell you that I didn’t go for the small one. Mama always says that “for a dollar more you can go first class,” and in this case, two dollars took the cake from “probably too small to feed four” to “almost big enough to feed ten.” I’m counting on there being leftover cake that everyone else will forget to eat and that I will probably obsess over until it’s gone. If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d make a vow to not log a single calorie for the next couple days, but knowing how very Type A I can be, I can pretty much guarantee that each one will be meticulously counted regardless of what it does to my self-esteem.
I did go swimming this morning with Mom though. We took the water weights and moved around a little while we visited and talked about the other people in the pool. You’d think we never saw one another, the way we carry on. Maybe this is just the way maturing mother-daughter relationships are, but I feel like we’re probably a little more appreciative of our time together than most. Until the end of 2014, I had been 650 miles away from her for 14 years. I’m hopeful that we’ll have many more years together to continue being inappropriate in public; the women in our family tend to be unnaturally long-lived, even when they chose to spend the majority of their lives doing unhealthy things like smoking and drinking.
Actually, now that I think about it, I’m going to blame today’s transgression of the diet on those girls in my gene pool who lived way too damn long. If it weren’t for them, I might be a little more careful about how I treated my body.
L’chaim, grannies. And shalom, y’all.