As I sit here on the day after Thanksgiving, I have a couple of thoughts.
One is that I need a bigger chair.
The second is that last piece of pumpkin pie was a bad idea. I feel like a bloated rotting hog that has been lying out in the sun for too long.
Too graphic? Sorry. I get cranky when I am too fat to fit in the shower.
Honestly, I am one more scoop of mashed potatoes away from needing a hand rail to successfully bathe.
Because I am going to have to sit down in the shower while the water pours over my humungous carcass (take away the c-a-r-c….). Eventually I am going to have to stand up.
It would be inappropriate to call 911, so the hand rail is a must.
I really need a glass of water and a small salad. A really small salad. And do they make diet water?
Why do I overeat on Thanksgiving? I know it is going to happen, yet my self-control fails me.
I am pathetic. And uncomfortable.
It got so bad that loosening my pants didn’t solve the problem. I was thinking long and hard about just taking them completely off (yet another reason to always wear clean underwear kids).
If I never eat again it will be too soon.
This got me thinking about the last meal I enjoyed when I still weighed less than a Ford Focus (you are welcome for the gratuitous plug Ford… I am doing my part to save the auto industry).
On Wednesday, I didn’t have school but my wife and daughter did.
There are some advantages to working in a different district than the rest of the family.
One, my daughter doesn’t have to hear my name used as a curse word on the playground.
Another is she can invite me to eat lunch with her when I have a day off.
At this point in her life she considers this fun. And so do I.
You would think that eating another school cafeteria corn dog would be the last thing I want to do on a day off, but in this case it is an honor and a privilege.
And one that won’t last forever.
I don’t know how much longer I have, but I am trying to milk it for all its worth before I get banned to Daddy Dork Land.
It’s coming. It’s just a matter of time. I can feel it.
Sure my corny jokes play well to a 2nd grade audience, but in a few years she will have to disown me.
I can’t blame her. She can’t afford to risk her social status by letting me show up at her middle school for lunch.
By then my best hope is she doesn’t tell her friends that her father was killed in a horrific coal mining accident. Or worse, she tells them she is a test tube baby (again, I apologize about the graphic nature of this particular blog… I am not myself as gravy courses through my veins).
I can live with dropping her off two blocks from school each morning, but I don’t want her to have to fake my death. Or lie about her conception.
Anyway, she let me eat with her and I even got a special bonus.
Yes, I was a proud recipient of a very public kiss and hug (I can feel these slipping away…).
So while I have been on lots of hot dates (not really), I think I will always remember when a pretty girl asked me out for corn dogs on a special lunch date.
And I might add. Pineapple, corn, and my choice of white or chocolate milk.
I felt like a prince.
Soon, I will be the frog.