It’s Double-stuffed Oreo time for me!

For those of you who watch what you eat, here’s the final word on nutrition and health. It’s a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies!  Although I’m not so sure my hubby, Mr. Fit Forever, would agree with me…

1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans..

5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

CONCLUSION: Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.

Homecoming

Thirty years ago tonight I was wearing a lovely purple dress and being escorted across the football field to be crowned Homecoming Queen.  I had my Farrah hair sufficiently plastered in place – if a breeze had blown, my Final Net Extra Hold hairspray wings would have given me liftoff.

I can honestly say that the title was never really useful.  There’s no box to check on a job application (gender M/F – homecoming queen Y/N?) and I’ve never had the occasion to wear the crown.  I am available for ribbon cutting ceremonies if anyone needs an old queen!

I’m a little nervous.  It’s been 3 decades since I’ve seen most of the people I went to school with and this evening I’m going to reconnect with them.  A lot has changed – besides my weight.  I have age spots, spider veins, a turkey neck and I’ll have to wear glasses to actually SEE them – then I’ll have to try to figure out WHO they are.  My memory is terrible.  I do good just to remember my own children’s names and don’t ask me how old I am unless you want to wait for me to do the math.

Nostalgia is starting to creep in.  Friends who have already left this world will be missed. I can feel the lump in my throat swelling.  I’m definitely going to need to wear water-proof mascara and stuff a wad of tissues in my purse.

Now to go get ready.  I’ve only got 2 hours and it will take me that long just to squeeze into my Spanx.

I’ll let you know how it goes.  Hm, what to wear?  Crown or no crown?

Save Me

A few days ago I had a craving for cinnamon rolls.  Not just any cinnamon rolls, either.  Grandma Blackwell’s cinnamon rolls.

I made half a batch – somehow I thought I could justify the calories if I only made a few.  After waiting for them to finish baking, I put one on a plate and carried it upstairs to enjoy while I was reading the newspaper.

Peeling away the outside of the cinnamon roll, I managed to eat it all except that one last bite.  You know the bite I’m talking about.  The one in the center of the roll with all the butter and sugar and cinnamon and yummy gooeyness – the Crème de la Crème, the pick of the litter. THE LAST BITE.

Engrossed in reading the latest breaking news about Sandra Bullock’s new baby (hey, I never said I was reading the Wall Street Journal) I reached for THE BITE.  But it wasn’t there.  IT WAS GONE.

And then I saw it.  Lola, my daughter’s cat, the cat from the mean streets of the Big Apple, had apparently been eyeing that last bite too.  Without making a sound, she had climbed onto the nightstand and she was eating THE LAST BITE.  Oh, the agony!

Whose big idea was it to save the best for last anyway?  Why couldn’t I have just bypassed the layers of goodness and gone straight to the center of GREATNESS?

Save the good dishes for guests.  Save those leopard pumps for a special occasion.  Save the last dance.

Not me.  Not anymore.  In fact, the next time I go out to dinner, I will eat dessert first and I will NOT save room for an entrée.  I will let my husband use the fancy towel (singular, I just have one for display) instead of the faded, threadbare ones he is accustomed to.  I will not save coupons because I never remember to bring them to the store anyway.  I WILL NOT.

Pay attention.  The next time you see me I will not only be wearing the leopard pumps but this body will be sucked, shoved, and squeezed into my good Spanx, not the one that is 2 sizes too small with holes made from pulling and tugging.

And considering the calories I WON’T be saving, looks like it’s going to be a GOOD girdle lifestyle for me from now on.