I was eating my oatmeal on the early morning Amtrak train a few weeks
back when the guy across from me comes back from the club car with his
breakfast. Two Bud Lights and a cinnamon roll. You can do that? And why the ‘light’ version? Cutting back? The gal three seats up was
working her way through a gallon zip lock bag of oreos and a pepsi. No kale or
sunscreen for these two. I was in awe.
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| Bud Light for breakfast? Image by cyclonebill via Flickr |
Made me think of Julie in seventh grade. Puberty was not kind to
her; she had giant breasts under her
brown wool uniform sweater. One hot spring day she opened the window (not
allowed) in our sweltering classroom. Sister Seraphina—the old bag who told us
earlier that year “Your President has been shot and he’s dead"—said “Julie, close
that window right now and take your sweater off if you’re too hot.” Sure
sister, and reveal to all my big breasts and wet stains under my arms? Julie
stood up, roared, “F (the whole word) YOU” and fled the classroom. I was in
awe.
My friend’s husband goes to bed each night with a Häagen-Dazs ice cream
bar in each hand. Think he brushes his teeth?
Live each day as if it were your last has different meaning for this
group. Are they unaware or just don’t care? No little voice telling them to get
their exercise, eat right or care what others think. Bill Murray in Groundhog’s
day. Wouldn’t it be great? Why do I have this little voice I thought as I
finished up my oatmeal, and how did they get a free pass?
The doctor recently asked my sister if our 95-year-old mother had gas. She
could hardly speak. Anywhere and everywhere, long and loud, my mom announces
her presence. Rising from a chair, exiting the car, in the middle of TJ Max, in
the restaurant bathroom she lets them rip. Big and reverberant. Wouldn’t it be
great?
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