You lose a lot of things as you grow older. Hair. Teeth. Strength. Mobility. Hearing. Eyesight. Balance. Bladder control. Memory. And you learn to deal with all of them . . . eventually.

But you’re told — by your friends, your family, your legion of doctors — that there are many compensations. You get to speak your mind, and people think it’s cute. You can wear whatever you like, and people think you’re just eccentric. And you now have lots of time to do the things you’ve always wanted to do. So what is it you might enjoy doing? Running a 10K? Nope, sorry. Foreign travel? Well, Machu Picchu is probably out of the question: no elevator. Same for the Greek islands with all those stone steps. And those trips are all expensive anyway. But how about something easier on the body, like reading? Crossword puzzles? Needlework? Watching your old movie collection? The senior center?

[Long, shrill shriek here.]

You can just feel your brain melting. So you decide to start writing that book you’ve always talked about. Or a lot of sappy poems to the boy you should have married. Or a blog. And that’s good; it takes up a lot of your time, and it keeps your brain cells buzzing. But sometime during the day, you get hungry. And that’s the real problem.

Because your old digestive system doesn’t quite work the way your young one did. And there are all those things the doctors have told you to avoid so that you’ll be able to live longer.

But did those well-meaning doctors ask you if you want to live longer with all those restrictions? Did they ever consider that you might actually want to enjoy these “golden” years? Or did they ask what’s the one thing you really love, that they’re now trying to take away from you?

FOOD! That’s what. But don’t let them. Your figure’s shot to hell anyway, so you’re not going to worry about five or ten extra pounds. It’s time for all those heavenly fried foods, gravies, sinful desserts . . . if your conscience — or your digestive tract — doesn’t get the best of you.

So let’s start with a nice big breakfast. Bacon? Nitrites and sodium. Eggs? Cholesterol. Hash browns? Starch, fat. Waffles? Not too bad, but hold the sugary syrup. Or how about a nice bowl of high-fiber cereal with skim milk instead? It’s healthy, and it’ll keep you regular. Blecchhh! Regular, shmegular.

But there’s lunch to look forward to, right? So around 1:00 you take a little break from the keyboard and head for the kitchen. There’s plenty of good, fresh bread, so a sandwich would be just the ticket. There’s ham, bologna, turkey. Well, the first two are out — they’re processed. A very bad word. So, turkey it is. Cheese? Kind of fatty, but there’s also protein and calcium, so okay, one slice. Lettuce and tomato, great. Now for the mayonnaise . . . oh, crap! That’s a no-no, for sure. And those chips on the side? Starch, grease, and sodium that will send your kidneys running for the nearest dialysis machine. So you chomp on your nice, dry turkey sandwich, when what you’d really love is a big, fat, juicy, grilled Reuben with the works, and an order of fries, of course. But you sigh, and look forward to dinner.

Around 4:00 you’ve got a killer chocolate craving. Too bad — all that sugar, and chocolate has caffein, you know. So maybe a nice piece of fruit instead? Lovely . . . but it ain’t chocolate, sweetheart.

Finally, the family comes home from work and dinner gets started. Oh, boy! What are we having tonight? Wait. Do I smell chili?

“Are you freakin’ kidding me??!!!”

I love chili. And never mind the sodium and fat content. Have you forgotten this little thing I have that’s called acid reflux? Are you trying to kill me with the spices and the peppers? Oh! My! God!

But you don’t say any of that, because they’re . . . well, they’re family, and they mean well. So you sweetly say you’re not that hungry, and you fix a nice bowl of oatmeal, again with skim milk, and pretend you’re loving it. And you go into the bathroom, lock the door, and beat your head against the tile wall a half dozen times to give yourself a different kind of pain to focus on.

And then you get comfortable and watch a chick flick or a couple of reruns of The Golden Girls, and finally it’s time to go to bed, where you listen to your stomach rumbling until you eventually drift off to sleep and dream about that leftover chili that’s sitting in the fridge and calling your name, and all the other things that are a million times better than oatmeal.

And the next day, you get to do it all over again. If you’re lucky.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/9/23