by Bella Rum
A Weighty Subject
Remember when I blabbed about attempting to lose a few pounds several weeks ago? I’ve lost twelve pounds, and I can’t seem to budge an inch further… I mean pound. I haven’t given up, but it’s frustrating. H has reached goal and is now a lifetime member of W/W. No comment.
On the Positive Side
For awhile now, H has extolled the virtues of weight-bearing exercise. This gentle sermonizing must be directed at me… since no one else is witness to it. I know that muscles increase bone density (especially important for postmenopausal women) and muscles burn calories while you’re at rest and firm arms look better than flabby arms. It’s all good, but I want to lift weights about as much as I want to shove a kidney bean up my nose. I’ve mentioned before that I use a Leslie Sansone DVD that employes weights while walking. I’ve managed to conveniently ignore that part for years, but H finally convinced me to use five-pound weights. Just five pounds. I started using them a few months ago, but I never even paid attention until last week. I suddenly noticed a nice change in my arms. It’s kind of impressive when you take into account that women my age tend to lose muscle. Nature is against us. So there you go. Now I’m all gung-ho. And the amount of weight required for results can be fairly minimal. Now he’s convinced me to do crunches for my stomach. Update in a few months.
We were on the way to Dad’s and this huge truck pulled up beside us, and then it slowed to our speed. What’s that about? I can’t understand why anyone would purposely drive beside someone when it isn’t necessary. Then H pointed out that it was a couple and they were arguing. The man was driving and the woman kept leaning into his space. They were gesturing wildly. We moved ahead of them to get out of their zone of insanity. For almost fifty miles, putting everyone in danger, the man wildly and recklessly tried to get around traffic. He was scaring the jelly beans out of me, but H sympathetically mumbled, “Poor guy. He wants to get the hell out of that truck.”
The Root of the Problem
I need a root canal. It’s the bottom back molar – the one they can’t ever desensitize. Can I please hear some clucking and cooing?