Ancient Chinese Secret, Ah?

You know what I hate? I hate getting someone else’s pants back from the dry cleaners. You know the drill, right? They look just like the pair you own; only these don’t fit. Yep, the old ancient Chinese secret-switcheroo. Nothing says go on a diet quicker then someone elses pants. But therein lies the problem- you own them. They are the pants you left behind for Chick Fil-A, sounds bad, right? But really, what’s not to love? Little tender nuggets of chicken, battered and fried to perfection, even Paula Deen couldn't do it better. But herein lies the problem, one nugget leads to a platter and by the time you come to, the wheels are off your wagon and you are sitting by the side of the road with Polynesian sauce all over your face. Not a pretty picture.
This brings me to my current dilemma. I’d just finished giving myself a good talking to. I was all done with the person I’d morphed into. Yes, it was obvious; it was time to start to get some, gulp, exercise. I'd woken up this morning all ready to go to the gym, but then one thing after another got in my way. First off, I looked everywhere for that little laminated card they issued to me a decade or two ago, without it, I was certain they’d never let me in. Plus, did I even know where the gym was, they may have moved. And then the big debate, what to wear? Problem there was that most of my “sleep to street wear” had lost its stretchiness-it’s hard to feel like an athlete when your thighs are rubbing together and the waist band keeps slipping down around your knees. Plus, my favorite zippy had mysteriously gotten bleach on it, and to top it off, I had this blister on my heal that hurt when I put on my sneakers. See, there were many things standing in my way-not the least of which was the lazy little attitude that was slowly starting to creep its way back into my thoughts. It was whispering, “Well self, it just doesn't look good for today, why don’t you try again tomorrow or maybe next Monday"?
Who was this person that I’d become? I was a virtual stranger to myself. I looked in the mirror and it was shocking. I looked like one of the old library ladies that always walk around with their big recycle bag, letting everybody know they were doing their part. I want to run over to them and let them know that washing that bag occasionally will not substantially increase their carbon foot print and who do they think they are fooling anyhow? I’ll just bet they are sticking the occasional Life magazine into that bag, bunch of hoarders!
While I was embroiled in this debate with myself, I stumbled across a picture of a chocolate chip cookie and then I knew all bets were off. The picture was a close up and I could tell they were homemade, not that crappy, “cut and cook” rolled stuff. Although, I will say that crap will do in a hurry. But no, what I saw was the real thing- I was going into a Toll House coma and I knew at once the only cure was a great big bowl of cookie dough. I happen to know for a fact, you cannot get salmonella poisoning from raw cookie dough. I think I read that somewhere, or someone told me, anyhow, I want to believe it and I am sure it is true. Something in the chocolate cancels out the raw egg issue. I could almost smell the butter on the printed page. And at that moment, I started to picture myself at Publix picking up the necessary ingredients. But then I realized, crap, I’d have to brush my teeth and I haven’t even had breakfast yet. But I will say I was dressed for the trip. This new line of “From the Sheets to The Streets” of casual wear may not work so well at the gym, but makes marvelous grocery attire. Now when I get out of the house (occasionally) I am beginning to recognize its popularity. I see women of all walks sporting this line. My daughter simply shakes her head and tells me, “The original line was called Juicy and what you are wearing is NOT Juicy, it called the Plus size from Target”. Then she adds, “Go get if off and put on some real clothes." Ouch- that hurts!