Socrates once counseled “thou should eat to live – not live to eat.” As I have gotten older, I’ve become more careful about what I ingest into my body. I love movie theater popcorn, potato chips, corn curls, Baby Ruths, Oreos, French fries, Chuckles (yes Chuckles) and Sun Chips. However, truth be told, you can probably count on one hand the times in the last year I have partaken of all of these. Combined. Well, maybe two hands. The point is — despite my elan for such items, I pay them no — or little — mind. I mean what’s the big deal with dieting? Just have discipline, people. When I bring something back to my desk for lunch while at work (which happens 3 or 4 days a week), it is always sans chips. My sandwich is always a cappella. I am strong. Invincible. During the day. . . .
My downfall comes if I call home and Donna asks “Wanna go out for dinner?” Sure. My dinner will always be staid. Serious. Perhaps a beet salad. Salmon and vegetables. It’s then that I begin to sweat. . . . . The wait person sashays over and smiles. My heart races. They ask in that enticing come hither way “Would you like dessert? We have chocolate gooey globs smothered with tubby tubs and whipped cream. A la mode. Covered with chocolate sauce. Cookies on the side.” Donna pleads “will you share?” “Pleeeeasee!” My trembling hands, glazed look and perspiring brow tell the story — not on your life . . . . . I’ll have a double. . . . .