Middle Age, Spare Tires and Clean Plates: Something's Gotta Give
It can help to look at my kids, but occasionally, that has the opposite effect. There they sit, smugly thin, refusing to eat another bite of mac and cheese.
"You can't have any candy until you finish your pizza," my husband tells them.
I made Nicoise salad the other night: seared tuna, Dijon dressing and perfectly cooked vegetables.
It was healthy, and, therefore, I resented it.
Not because it wasn't delicious but because it wasn't what I would have chosen 25 years ago, when there was no such thing as cholesterol and my meals were limited only by my appetite.
I guess it's not the food I'm hungry for.
I wonder if the trick is to realize that those lost years can't be found in donuts. Maybe Nicoise salads are the fountain of youth.
At least, that is, until I look in the medicine cabinet and see those lidocaine patches.
But I shouldn't worry. After all, they're for someone else, aren't they?
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