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.
Stay safe.
