20 May 2010

Transcending food

During one of my recent stops on Scott's Trail o' Tears, I had a little surgical procedure. A nip here, a tuck there, and voila, no more nasty gangrenous tonsils. During that time I pigged out on ice chips, broth, and baby food, losing several pounds. People kept asking if I was hungry, and really I wasn't. Partly because I felt so crappy, but also, and more importantly, because I had become one with the universe and had no need of the common things that mortals require to sustain them.

That time is past, and I am famished. All the time. I am determined to keep the weight off, and lose more besides, and have been exercising quite a bit in an effort to a) lower my cholesterol; b) increase my fitness and endurance; and c) not still be single when I'm 50 (which is a long way off, snarky mean people). Anyhoo.

The biggest problem (and what a problem to have) is all the nice people. I've had two fabulous dinners this week at friends' homes, a couple more coming up, lunch dates more days than not, all because my friends are generous and good and caring. It's been great fun, and I don't want it to stop. I just have to run like the wind. And walk. And bike. And play tennis. And climb. As exhausting as it is to know me? It's almost as exhausting to be me.

8 comments:

  1. That reminds me: Burt and I have a grape we need help finishing this weekend. Saturday dinner?

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  2. The narcotics probably also helped with the appetite control. So there's still that option. :-)

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  3. I'd love to, Eric, but I had half a scone on Tuesday.

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  4. Luckily for you, there's nothing in the refrigerator.

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  5. We need to decide where to lunch next Wednesday.

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  6. OK, but you'll still pick up a six pack at Rustica, won't you?

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  7. I personally plan on thwarting your diet whenever you come over. However, next time I will offer you a 30 lb baby to do curls with. Or you can chase the 4-year-old around the yard as a post-prandial.

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As always, civility reigns, but cleverness trumps.

They shall be called my disciples.