Ice cream and life lessons

There are two things in the world that make me laugh until I blow snot bubbles:

1. sleep talking stories
2. animals with shoes on

But that's not the point of this post.

I just felt like sharing.

Now send me sleep talking stories of animals with shoes on.

Where was I?

Oh yes.  I was going to tell you about my breakfast yesterday.  The second one.

I had the french toast smothered in butter and syrup at a restaurant called Poopies.  It's a small place, the service is kinda lousy, but the food is de-lish.  Emphasis on -lish.  Why?  Because I'm in a mood.

But that's also not the point of this post.  Only a minor detail.

I was with my co-workers to celebrate the 90th birthday of a man who has more to do in a day that I do in one week.  His name is Dante, Dan for short, and he volunteers in my office every morning.

I love this guy.  He is so kind and caring...and blunt.

"Hey Dan, my parents are throwing an engagement party and..."

"No thanks.  I don't do that stuff."

"Well, ok then..."

Dan mows his own yard.  He snow blows his driveway and sometimes his brother's.  He plays golf four days a week.  He does work for the boy scouts.  He drives himself and his wife all over town.  He can read phone book listings without glasses.

One more time:  Dan can read the phone book without glasses.

I can barely see my own hand in front of my face without glasses.

He is in great shape, not just for his age.

So when I see him order two eggs over easy, four strips of bacon and buttered toast it makes me wonder how he got here.

Pilates? 

I doubt it.

South Beach Diet?

Probably not.

Burnt toast and scotch?

Maybe.

Or, it might just be good genes and a good attitude.

Now, I don't know if I have either, but I can rationalize my future decisions in this way: I am going to die the day that I die.  It's not my choice, never has been, never will be.  And it is going to be the same day whether I put myself in stupid sugar detox mode, run until my feet fall off and torture myself or if I have a dang lemon square every night...with a cookie...and a slice of cake...with ice cream.

So with that revelation I skipped the egg white omelet and opted for french toast with a stick of butter.  In the afternoon I dug out $3.10 in change (and one Bermuda nickel) for a scoop of chocolate ice cream.

And it felt good.

Tasted good, too.

I'm sure that's what Dan would have done.