It was a wretched theory. They postulated that if we’d all collaborate, we’d lose all our fat. They weren’t very subtle. They gave us tubes of stuff to squeeze over the food we ate, but never quite enough. We had to buy the second batch, and prices just kept rising. Whereas we never lost a pound—a result not surprising. Later, they skipped out of town—an act our friends found funny. They told us from the first the only thing we’d lose is money!!!
My corpulent life style I now declare over. I’ve taken an oath to only eat clover, apples and carrots and barley and beans. There will be less of me filling my jeans!
Instead of gorging, I’m going to be grazing. I know the results will be just amazing. So if you are willing and if you are able, be careful, please, what you bring by my table.
Don’t pass near with ice cream or tiramisu or I’m liable to accidentally waylay you to survey your provender —those fruits of the cow— just to “tsk tsk” your choices with holier than thou dieting lingo in loud fierce bravado, eschewing your pancakes or your gado gado.
The world should bow down to my menu of choice and if it doesn’t, in my loudest voice I’ll be sure that you know what you could have chosen that’s macrobiotic. That’s never been frozen.
That’s full of good fiber, sans sugar and gluten. My mouth will be flappin’, my horns will be tootin’. For now I’ve decided to be dairy-free, I’ve decided the whole world should diet with me!!!
My talented singer/songwriter friend Christine Anfossie has just sent me the musical version of a poem I published earlier on my blog. Here, again, is that poem and below is her musical rendition! Love it.
You’re being good and I am not. I broke my diet and got caught. I’d have resisted if I could, but chocolate cake just looked so good.
I bought a piece, not a whole cake. I thought a meal of it I’d make. But now you feel you must rebut my obvious need for chocolate.
Will you soon go? It’s getting late, and there’s this chocolate on my plate. And though I know it’s impolite, the chances that I’ll share are slight.
Of your smug lecture I’ve had enough and now it’s my turn to be tough. If you must fall from your high throne and dine on cake, go buy your own!
Click on the URL below to hear the musical version of my poem. Thanks, Christine!
I seem to fit my life now, I’m cozy in my skin. No matter how far out it goes, I always fit right in. When I gain a pound or two, my skin grows out to hold it, and when my skin begins to sag enough for me to fold it, my flesh grows out to fill it in. It’s become symbiotic. That state of growing me out to my skin’s become hypnotic.
When encountering fresh pastries, a fugue state might ensue. A box of chocolates empties, though I only ate a few. Whole pizzas vanish in thin air, to my midnight grief. They left the box behind them, this culinary thief! The thought of uninvited guests is not very nice. I make much of the mystery. Could it be dogs or mice?
Perhaps once more the kittens have discovered a way in and at night when the lights go out, pursue their lives of sin. Feasting on my pizza. Gorging on my pies. Surveying my milk chocolate with their greedy feline eyes. I spin a pretty fantasy, but the truths of this tale are revealed to me each morning as I step upon the scale.
Two things of value that are fleeting–– life and love both set hearts beating. Both sadly lost by types of cheating: one by libido overheating, the other just by unwise eating. Once over, though, both bear repeating.
Cook a bowl of oatmeal and throw some apples in. Cinnamon and cranberries and walnuts are no sin. Gotta get the pressure down––of both my life and blood. So no more salting French fries or pies of chocolate mud. I exercise enough, I think, nighttimes in the pool; but midnight trips out to the fridge brand me as a fool.
So a giant bowl of oatmeal with milk that is nonfat and a bit more exercising where I once just sat will guarantee I’ll live at least to one hundred twenty. I’ll have lower blood pressure and zip I’ll have aplenty. There is no secret to long life and staying young and burlier. The answer lies in giving up life’s pleasures a bit earlier.
The prompt word today is “Giant.” (It’s not too obvious what this poem has to do with the prompt word until the second stanza, but originally, I had “giant bowl of oatmeal” in the first line. Alas, no rhyme presented itself, so “giant” got relegated to a bit further down in the poem and became less relevant. Oh well. Main purpose of the prompts is to get us started, anyway.)