Have you ever noticed that no matter how much you beg and plead for silence, once your stomach starts making noises, it’s just about impossible to get it to stop? You just have to wait for it to go back to sleep.
I thought I’d post a reminder to myself not to overeat, and share it with you, telling you not to overeat, if you’re celebrating Thanksgiving this Thursday. But I hear people think that’s body-shaming, so I’m going to refrain.
I was reminding myself not to overeat because it’s not good for my general physical disposition. As I’m in my sixties and know my family history on Dad’s side, cardiovascular problems challenge the males. Overeating doesn’t help, especially when it’s food that I enjoy, like cheese and buttery mashed potatoes, washed down with wine, followed by pie with ice cream and whip cream. Dad is still alive and doing well at eighty-five, but I lost a cousin to a heart-attack when he was forty-three, an uncle has had several bypasses and stents (starting in his mid-thirties), and Grandpa died of a massive coronary when he was sixty-five.
But I don’t want to body-shame anyone, especially myself, so I’m not going to remind you or me not to overeat this Thanksgiving. Of course, the one accused of body-shaming, Sarah Michelle Gellar, added a throwback lingerie shot of herself with her reminder. I’m not going to post such a photo, because I don’t have any decent shots of myself in lingerie. Something goes horribly awry with the camera whenever I take one. I don’t know why. I guess it’s fate.
I will also not mention how I grimace with guilt and sadness when I think of our Thanksgiving traditions of over-indulgence in a world and country where so many are starving and suffering, or that we’re giving thanks for being safe when so many are displaced by war and natural disasters.
Whether you overeat or not, or celebrate Thanksgiving or not, I hope you’re not one of those suffering, and you have a wonderful day today and Thursday, and hell, let’s go for broke and wish you a great life. I also hope that you don’t suffer from being body-shamed, and that you realize that you’re more than your body.
This has not been a public service announcement.
The memory stream plucked this blast from the past and delivered it straight to my head.
I don’t mind. “Golden Years” by David Bowie (1975) is a song that I enjoy. I’m going into my golden years, I’ve decided. They’re not the golden years of many people’s thinking, which translate to twilight years, but good years. Unlike the Bowie song, I’m not running for the shadows, either. Life’s taking me somewhere, angel. I’m just a hazel-eyed optimist.
Quadrafloofic (floofinition) – of, or relating to, four housepets.
In use: “Life with his animals was often quadrafloofic as the three dogs and single cat — the ringleader, if you must know — surrounded him, regardless of his activity. This made using the toilet particularly challenging.”