We’re just about getting there now, on the 14th of January.
Our trouble is, we get these tins of nuts through the mail at the holidays. They’re gifts from people who want us to die young: greasy cashews, super-salty almonds, macadamia nuts even, which have more fat than you find on the thigh of a pig.
Then there’s the whole array of specialty chocolates people bring.
And the bottles of wine.
It’s all part of the holiday haul which takes longer than you think to dissipate.
Lucky for me. Old Dave plays cards once a week his grizzly scotch-drinking pals. That’s when I trot out all this hi-cal stuff and put it right near to where they’re playing.
It works pretty well unless this one guy brings his famous pan of chocolate chip brownies studded with walnuts that I want to get under the covers with and eat every crumb of.
Instead, I make Dave take care of it. “Hide this from me and never tell me where it is no matter how much I beg!” I tell him.
“Jeez! Show a little discipline!” he says but he hides them yes he does because he’s no fool. He knows if he wants to feel that butter-and sugar-and-dark-chocolate combo on his own tongue he’ll have to hide them.
He’s pretty mean to me come to think of it, teasing me, calling me “fatty” and all and making “boom! boom! boom!” sounds when I walk across the bedroom floor – when in fact I weigh 20 pounds less than I did when we met – And he weighs AT LEAST 20 pounds more than he used to. Ok I’ve gained 15 pounds since the millennium but that just brings me to 135, and he’s calling ME fat?
That’s the thing with men though: they don’t look fat. Dave has a big deep chest and legs that weigh like 75 pounds each as I learned when I was moonlighting as a massage therapist and he never looks fat.
So there it is: your man looks awesome and manly with this white hair that the ladies all swoon over while YOU, no matter how trim you get with Weight Watchers, are still just this aging chick with cellulite.
Well whaddya gonna do? At least I got this cute new haircut. 🙂