Back in the Day When People Were Happy

We were on the train, heading into a brilliantly blue sky, toward a place with sun, sand, and appropriately fitted bathing suits.  (Personally, I dreamed of actually appearing in public in ANY type of swimsuit, because I finally wouldn’t have a floatation device of flesh surrounding my midriff.  As for Gary?  The last time I had to shop for larger sized men’s swim trunks, I was alarmed to find they looked like enormous, 1970’s-style, women’s gauchos, cut from 1970’s table cloths.)

Ok.  So back to the train ride.

We were on the tracks heading into a brilliant sky…

But we had to make a pitstop at a station, first.

Where our friends, Vince and Sam, were waiting on the platform waiving  quarts of liquid fun which was a little too hard to resist.  So, we removed ourselves from the Locomotive of the Svelte and Sylphlike, to go git us some whiskey and desserts.  Plus some ciabatta bread dipped in olive oil and spices.  And fish tacos.  And bbq, bacon cheeseburgers.   And margaritas.

We could do this, right?  They were only going to be in town for a week.  We would  re-board as soon as they hit the road.

Then, from over the Appalachians,  like Daniel Boone in an SUV, came my cousin, Kurt, and his family.  The night they arrived, any thoughts of healthfulness in Gary’s consciousness became gummed up with the stretchy, hot cheese in the stuffed crust pizza they provided, as he ate slices like a starving prisoner just released from the Bastille.  The bubbling tumblers of blueberry vodka and seltzer were mightily tasty, as well…

Well, things just got silly then.  I thought it would be a great idea to make BOTH a German chocolate cake and banana cream pie for my father-in-law’s birthday.  Everything became game.  From gas station brownies to variety packs of doughnuts.  I found myself craving blocks of fried lard.

It happens quicker than you think.  Becoming Lard Eaters.

The next thing we knew, instead of winding our way to the Sunny Seaside of Slenderella , we got back on the Gravy Train heading toward Tater Tot Town, lured by the warm, wafting scents of chocolate chip cookies, cheesy garlic bread, and lasagna, with the speed of the Japanese Bullet.

Big sigh.  We are so WEAK.  The floatation device around my torso has expanded again, causing waistbands to incise my midriff.  I’ve begun to eerily resemble the Michelin Man.   Gary has the wild, unshaven and desperate look of someone who would like to stop being addicted, but can’t help himself from bum-rushing  Dairy Queen waitresses.

Yep, it’s time to spit the gigantic, chocolate-covered cherries out of our gerbil-like cheeks and climb back on the train. 

Or the gerbil-wheel.   Whatever.   We need the exercise.