As I walked this morning, I noticed that cars approaching me on the opposite side of the street tended to slow more than necessary and sometimes even stopped until I had passed. Is this Southern courtesy? Fear that I will suddenly stagger and pitch myself beneath their tires? Awe struck amazement rendering the driver unable to operate large machinery? Or something akin to funeral procession manners, which might appear to be imminently necessary, with me red faced and sweating as I climb the final hill to my driveway.
I pondered that while I browsed at Target, looking for something else to wear that would be a little cooler than twill slacks and T shirt. I settled on a sleeveless top and knit pants that stopped a few inches short of being full length - not so short as to be alarming, but short enough to possibly have some cooling properties. Looking in the mirror at home, I realized that with a single outfit I had the potential to lower property values in my entire neighborhood. When did my arms start to flap? At one time, not so long ago, I was proud that they looked pretty good for a fat person. Then, it was more the fat but firm approach, and now, just a lame impersonation of a turkey buzzard with wings extended above some tasty piece of carrion. And formerly fat people are very happy to tell me that the fat will continue to flap when my arms are positively skinny. The flesh does not miraculously vanish. Of course there is surgery, but there is no chance of that. No paring off this tallow with the surgeon's knife, even if my face-lift veteran friend is rooting for that solution.
So, today was weigh-in day. The Weight Watcher's web site was full of little pop-up stars and digital cheering because it says I have lost another five pounds. Not this week mind you, but from when I was five pounds heavier, I guess. I am still a little mystified with the WW system, mostly because I have not taken the time to carefully read all the explanatory material. I guess that is where meetings with a group leader help. She has read all that stuff and can parrot it right back to you, saving you from the info overload I always sense when I get deep into the rewards and points and who knows what else that circumscribe my days.
Tomorrow morning I vow to venture past the stop sign that has marked my turn- around point and go forth into the cul de sac. I am still omitting side streets, because those include hills, and I am not really into any hills that I don't have to deal with to actually get back into the air conditioning of my house. Once there, I collapse in front of the Today Show, iced tea in hand, and wipe off the sunblock. Somehow, it seems as if that much sunblock will clog the plumbing if I don't get it off before the shower hits it.
Actually, health issues aside, the sun can have almost any part of me except my neck. I have not slathered on a fortune in neck cream every night for years to let the sun bake me to a piece of jerky. Thoughtless teenage years bathed in iodine infused baby oil to get that golden glow did not result in cancer, blotches, dryness, or almost anything else I should be suffering from, so I am not going to take it for granted now. Bring on anything the grocery store or cosmetic department has to offer, I'm your girl.
My mother's theory was that it did not matter which product you used, but how determined and faithful you were in its application. I like to think she was right. Now that I think of it, her theory applies to pretty much everything, doesn't it?
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