And that is why I nearly won myself the reputation of a party puker.
In my defense, let me point out that every single person at the party was drinking wine. And also, I love to watch how some women so gratefully hold wine glasses. That sip-and-pose stuff they do looks deliciously Kathryn Hepburnish to me.
So I accepted a pretty glass of vino even though I am secretly much happier with a Big Gulp, filled to the brim with Coke.
The very moment I accepted that glass, some busy body in the crowd requested that everyone participate in a toast.
I only intended to pose and hold my glass like the classy chicks.
But a toast? That meant I had to at least taste the wine or maybe even sip and swallow it.
So there you have it … peer pressure forced me to take a little gulp. That is why I nearly puked at the party. It is also why I sneaked into the bathroom and poured the rest of my Kathryn Hepburn fail down the sink.
A few days ago I slipped right back into that I want-to-be-like-her mode.
It happened when I met a new client at a healthy restaurant. She discussed her interest in me writing a book about healthy living and fitness. I was mesmerized by the fact that this woman is older than me. But her neck and chest don’t look like a wrinkled dog is napping on it. She has a visible waist and pretty little cheek bones too.
Oh yeah, I wanted to be her.
After the meeting the healthy-eating woman left the restaurant. But I hung around in there with visions of a small butt and stick-figure thighs dancing in my head.
A few minutes later I bopped out to my car with an expensive, healthy-sandwich-to-go in my hand.
A mile or so down the road I happily took a big bite, believing that I too could have a waist again if I could be like that beautiful woman.
But my first thought was, “Oh my gosh, I bought a pile of cow cud.”
That sandwich tasted like a combination of weeds and something gritty. Do healthy people eat sand instead of a nice little dollop of mayo? And what about that tasteless pretend bread?
Then I took a peek at the sandwich contents. I couldn’t positively identify any of that green stuff. The gritty yuck spread on the bread reminded me of something I won’t say. But your hint is to imagine a baby’s diaper.
I was done with that healthy eating nightmare. So done that I spit the first and last bite into a napkin, closed the container and covered it up so I could pretend the entire experience never actually happened.
To make the world right again, I stopped at a drive-through and bought a good old cheeseburger. The healthy cud was tossed in the trash can on the way out.
For a lot of years my waist and cheek bones have been buried by gravy and all other good stuff that actually has a taste.
Life is too short to eat cow cud.