- sleep talking stories
- animals with shoes on
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.
I doubt it.
South Beach Diet?
Burnt toast and scotch?
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.