My Best Friend

We all have that friend.  The one who is a bad influence.  The one who leads you down a path of ruin.  The one you love despite the destructive relationship.  After time together you may regret your bad discissions, you may even carry the weight of those choices for months or even years to come, but you just can’t stop yourself.   Moth to the flame.

Tonight, my best friend came to visit.  You may know her,  Little Debbie.  She is from the snack-cake dynasty. When I am down, when I am blue, she is the first to call to let me know I am not alone.  Feeling stressed?  There’s Lil’ Deb!

Food is my drug of choice, my emotional crutch, and has been for most of my adult life.   When I am happy, “Let’s eat.”  Want to celebrate?  “Let’s eat.”  Bored? Lonely?  Frustrated?  Stressed?  The solution is always food.

Summer is fast approaching, and although I am decades and pounds beyond wanting to get into bikini shape (as if ever), I would like to have a little swagger with my waddle.  A positive flounce with my bounce. A strut to my butt. A titup in my giddy-up.   Not for others but for me. I am not pretentious; I will not pretend that my desire to lose weight is predicated (a pretentious word) on health.  Nope.  Health be damned.  I want to look better.  

Sorry Little Debbie.  You may be sweet (and you are) and innocent with those pigtails and smile, but you are not good for me.