A Little Cheese, (or other fattening food) With That Whine?

By G. E. Shuman

I’m here to whine a bit, and you’re here too, so I hope you’ll listen. The situation is this: For the past several weeks I've been on this stupid diet, and it's no one's fault but my own. It is a self-imposed thing, a sort of silent, (mostly,) suffering that I have forced upon my own body. I’ve done this, I think, for several good reasons. One reason has to do with a comment made to me after I answered a friend's question. The question was, "How do you feel?" My almost immediate and unrehearsed answer was, "Old and fat." His sheepish reply, (He's about my age and weight.) was, simply, "Well?"
That got me to thinking. Having to take a breath between tying one shoe and then the other that morning, also got me to thinking. The facts that heart disease runs rampant through my father’s side of my family, and that two stents already reside in my own heart have made me think even more. Getting on the bathroom scales recently, after a long avoidance of them, finally convinced me that it was time for action, as long as that action wasn’t as restrictive as some of my pants have been lately.
I decided to not attempt to follow some ridged diet plan that I knew I wouldn't stick to. I'm not real good at following directions or doing what I’m told. Ask my wife. I did decide that I had to do something. After all, we live in a country where you can get fast food without even getting the exercise of walking into the restaurant. If you unwrap your burger fast enough, it’s even possible to get a brand new shot of cholesteral into your bloodstream before you get back into the traffic stream. Effecting a heart attack is all way too easy.
So, my recent plan has been to make a few less-than-drastic changes in my eating habits. I have had very few cheeseburgers lately, even though we have just entered grilling season. As usual, my timing stinks. (I warned you that I was going to whine.) I still eat pizza, but one or two SLICES, instead of one pizza. I am also consuming noticeably more fresh fruits and vegetables. My stomach probably wonders if it’s been transplanted into someone else’s body. I also found a new breakfast food. Remember the closing song on the old Frazier show, as Kelsey Grammar himself sang ‘Tossed Salad and Scrambled Eggs?’ Well, I tried that for breakfast one day and I loved it. Now I often have scrambled eggs and a spinach salad, instead of scrambled eggs and a bagel (or two) and sausage and home fries and... well, you get the idea.
I have also discovered something called fat-free yogurt. I actually like it a lot. I just can't let myself think about where it comes from. Besides an occasional chunk of Seriously Sharp Cabot Cheddar, artificial coffee creamer is as close as I usually come to milk products, because I do know what end of a cow milk comes from. I have contemplated what psychological advantage the manufacturer of the brand of yogurt I eat, sought, in designing the little container to nearly resemble an upside-down ice cream cone. You know, the bottom is bigger around than the top. I have concluded that you won't notice how little yogurt there is in there, because of the very small spoon you have to use to get it out. (I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night.)
So far, in these several weeks, I have lost only five pounds. Some mornings the scales say six, some days four. I hate those scales anyway. I get out of the shower, dripping wet, and dry myself off quickly. Hopefully, getting rid of those water drops helps me to weigh slightly less. The thought of me, buck-naked, blurry-eyed, peering down over my five-pounds-lighter belly, trying to read the numbers on that stupid scale without my bifocals, does not a pretty mental picture make, I know. Thankfully, we have no large mirrors in our bathroom. I recently asked a friend about being stuck at that five pounds. She said: "Now it's time for you to start exercising." It was only a matter of time before someone brought up the 'E' word.
Adding fuel (in the form of calories) to the discouraging fire, Gerald Papineau, a guy my wife works with, occasionally brings her chocolate bars, and she likes to tell me when he does. She also tells me it’s a fact that chocolate is good for you. I think the Hershey Company came up with that ‘fact’. I eat broccoli. Broccoli is good for you. Why doesn’t someone she works with bring her broccoli? Thanks for listening. I feel much better now.