Datebook: Saturday, July 29th

So, as I mentioned, for safety reasons my husband doesn’t go with me to Placid. Last night, due to my recent comments on the need for spontaneity and his recent viewing of a Dr. Phil/Oprah marathon when the ballgame was rained out, he suggested we go out since I will be “in country” for six days. He was very proud that he refrained from asking “Where do you want to go?” Instead, he suggested a few ideas he had read in the Live section of the paper.

The Ottobar was holding an Interspecies Marriage Ceremony where the club would administer the service and give limousine rides around the block with a sign that reads “Just married to my Pet” or a competing bar was holding a George Thorogood look-alike contest. No cover charge-the winner gets the bar tab.

Since everyone knows that you must eat bland food for several days prior to arriving in Placid, a sort-of body cleansing to allow for the future intake of Nicola’s pasta, Jimmy’s Seafood scallops, The Cottage’s sandwiches, and soup at the Brown Dog—I passed on the Ottobar and company.

Plus, my idea of spontaneity is a Cartier Love bracelet and a gift card for an hour massage and facial (he must have been channel surfing during Oprah’s favorite things)

This is to explain how we ended up at Chick-Fil-A and Sam’s Club.

Chicken, being beige, falls into the bland food group and everyone knows that the waffle fries are half the calories of regular since most of the surface is in fact holes.

I buy several cases of water, Yoohoos, Luna Bars and Tastycake Tandy Cakes (the peanut butter coating is all protein). This oxymoron of shopping is due to the fact that my daughter (sigh) counts calories and fat grams.

I can assure you she wasn’t raised this way, but peer pressure always finds a way to sneak in and take some control. She has witnessed me model the balance of many a meal with a hot fudge sundae and a diet coke. I have dutifully explained to her the Fig Newton law of gravity—if you look at both the calorie content and the fat content you will never recover from the gravity of realizing there is no guilt-free eating.

As a result she is a size 0, which we all know is not even a size—most catalogs start at size 4. I have tried to talk to her about her non-size and tried to give her a real life comparison—like high school Algebra—if you have something and you take 0 times it, you make that thing nothing also. She is potentially a danger to society.

She, of course, just gives me that slight Madonna (the singer!) smile and hands me a Luna bar. I am not a nothing size but the size that corresponds with the age of when most teens start getting mouthy. Think teens starting early!

She, of course, skates 55.00 worth of ice sessions a day, works out in the gym, takes Pilates, has a personal trainer and a personal “stretcher” so her zero looks pretty buff and healthy.
I have old Tae Bo and Jane Fonda VHS videos that I can’t play in the upstairs DVD machine so I am thwarted by technology working against me. Besides, Luna Bars taste like something is missing, and that something is what is typically found in chocolate croissants and centers on the needed ingredient of –well-- flavor.

On the way to the check-out I throw a vat of Swedish Fish in the cart for the drive—everyone knows adding fish to your diet is a healthy option.

2 more days!

Mombo # 9