Today, Ken and I start a diet. The months of isolation and comfort food have taken their toll. Yes, we’ve been walking every day, but it would take a marathon a week to shed the extra calories from our stress eating.
And we are each other’s worst enemy when it comes to food. Each evening, one of us looks at the other and says, “What would it take to talk you into ice cream/pizza/frosties?” The answer is very little. A week or so ago, we headed to Wendy’s for our evening fix. We were determined to ONLY get the little junior frosty. Just a little something cold in this heat. Just a little chocolate to appease our taste buds. Didn’t we deserve just a LITTLE something?
So we got in line at the drive-thru. Forty-five minutes later, we placed our order. Time in the time of corona has little meaning when the pay-off is a frosty. We pulled up to the window with outstretched hands only to hear, “Sir, our frosty machine is broken.”
Better people would have said, “Well that’s our sign.” Better people would have driven home sensing some divine intervention in our diet. But we are not better people. We are people who have been holed up for months, grasping for some LITTLE bit of happiness to get us through another day of a raging pandemic. We drove to Baskin Robbins.
So I’m not judging.It seems we are using less deodorant and eating more ice cream.