Last night some television announcer said average women’s weight has gone from 140 pounds in 1980 to 160 pounds in 2012. I’ll take either weight gratefully. And if anyone wants to know, I have enrolled in a pay-now program using powerful machinery to whip me into shape one way or another. Then my age and back enjoined in marriage, causing my back to hurt whenever it chooses, probably because of friends Mr. Arthur and his horribly cruel friend Mrs. Osto. This occurred during my initial week of exercise possibly because I left the walking machines and decided to work on one to eliminate one of my stomachs. Big mistake.
In 1991, I “paid my dues” with back surgery for a three-type rupture on the bottom of my spine. I thought I had given enough at the Office of the Bones. Then in 2011-2012, the old lady’s back finds me with vengeance on the mind and this is one ailment people doubt the most of anyone having, unless structure of the body almost meets the ground or magnetic items stick to the back of one’s garment because the spine has a metal pipe in it to let the back sufferer stand.
I should not tell this secret of the hefty and harmless, but I’m talking and can’t shut up. Most of us at the head of the scale class are professional rationalizers, able to lie (no tall tale) to ourselves about how we can rest on the couch with a sack full of pretzels beside us or two over-sized peanut brittle patties which run a close, close second to pralines and actually convince ourselves we do no harm unless a normal person happens to see or catch us in our pigging out.
Then the shame and guilt are overwhelming. I usually drink a gallon of water afterward somehow to appease my nutrition madness. Once I ate an entire frozen Mrs. Fields’ Pecan pie. I halved it, not placing the entire concoction in front of me at one time. I made the walk to the kitchen to get the second half. In my bloated reasoning, perhaps I thought the little trip to the room of goodies and surprises might help. No, I did not get ill and probably enjoyed the evening meal. Help. Age and internal wearing to digestive power have slowed me. Thankfully.
But as I was putting on pounds, so was my spouse. Both skinnie Minnie and Moe in our twenties, we had found stress, fast-food places, owned a microwave, about the healthiest food item going down us was milk. My two sons could chug a lug to quench thirst. Everyone in the family liked milk which came only in full percent then (that I knew about). And these children around our table were skinny. Therefore, mashed potatoes with butter sat on the table once a day along with a variety of others things to make healthy(?) kids. Why Dad and I could wipe away our excess at any time. Everybody knows a man looks better with weight anyway.
My husband’s mother enjoyed making preserves and jellies in the summer. There was a favorite, her peach preserves.
My husband would say, “Please don’t give us this jar. Your daughter-in-law will have the entire jar secretly eaten by the time we get home.” The loving woman would give us two jars.
Secretly, so far back in my mind, I remembered a few aunts who lost poundage as they aged. Maybe if I were lucky, this could happen to me. My parents were always the right weight, but Dad still weighed less as he approached his 70th birthday. One day my middle daughter brought up this weight-loss factor to me, her mother. How would I know why it was not happening to me? Possible answers: I never really grew up. Some who do lose older don’t want to. Some are passed up and get bigger. Sickness can take it right off. Did my daughter wish that on me?
I’m not saying it aloud, but I think our three natural borns are going to take after me and have to fight the weight problem. One already leaves no doubt.
In closing (hoping this fits) I read that diet drinks had something in them dangerous to our internal organs.
I called a friend to whine. “I’ve been on diet-drinks for more years than I can count,” I said, “one a day, and they are said to be dangerous for us.”
“Friend,” my advisor said, “You are well into that geezer grouping. You’ve been drinking these colas since you turned against the taste of another one. Shut up already.” (I’ve heard it’s ridiculous when adults try to use slang; is it our fault it’s out of date when we finally realize what it means and how to use it?”
If you see me walking by the side of a road with my dog club, please don’t tempt me by asking if I need a lift. Besides, the lifts I need have to be done in a medical environment.