"Diet, Schmiet"

    

     I have always been conscious of my weight, throughout my youth, after my children were born, and in my later years.  I have my own personal weight and size ceiling, and historically, I  strive not to exceed either.

   Excess weight was not an issue when I was going through my divorce.  The pounds melted away, as quickly as icicles melt on a sunny afternoon.  My appetite died with my marriage, and my baggy clothes hung on my skeletal frame like aged sagging draperies, carelessly slung across an attic window.  I was unable to eat, and in addition I worked out excessively, which only contributed to my emaciated state.

    In the ensuing years since my divorce became final, my appetite has returned, and I have allowed my gym membership to lapse.  I still watch my weight…I have watched it approach and slowly surpass the aforementioned personal ceiling. I am stalled in procrastinator mode, and I am absolutely loath to begin a diet. I exercise only intermittently.  I squeeze myself into my jeans until they are practically screaming from the strain, and I curse myself with every excess pound. 

     With the New Year only days away, I had made the age old, exceedingly common resolution of starting a diet right after the holidays.  I was pretty much mentally prepared, and then…I went food shopping.  I am generally not real keen on pretzels, but I absolutely cannot resist Snyder’s of Hanover Buttermilk Ranch Pretzel Pieces.  Normally, my addiction to these savory little morsels is not problematic because the stores rarely stock them…until today.  Hence I declared, loudly and unashamedly: diet, schmiet, placed two bags in my shopping cart, and subsequently smiled like a madwoman for the duration of the shopping trip. Once home, I promptly consumed an entire bag before the afternoon had ended.  There goes that diet…

Hey, wait a minute!  If I consume the second bag just as quickly, (which I will, no doubt) I can still start my diet next week…provided I stay out of my local grocery store...