The new woman at work is absolutely lovely, which is terrific as she sits next to me. I really like her; however, there is one thing that kind of irks me, and I’m very embarrassed about it, but will share.
Lisa eats all day. Like a truck driver. She’s always hungry and thoroughly enjoys her food, telling me often about her delicious fettucine al fredo and cheeseburgers and brownies, etc.. Every meal would satisfy a football player and ends with dessert. You get the picture.
Lisa is also exactly my size. “Do you exercise a lot,” I ask as she bites into her first donut. “Go to the gym often? Run?”. That could explain her generous appetite and lovely physique.
“Never a day in my life”, she responds, laughing. “I know I should, but I’m lazy. I like to sit on the couch and read”.
You know, perhaps I could understand if Lisa were 21, with the metabolism of a youngster. But no, my colleague is 49!!!!!
And wait – as she was leaving for the day, Lisa commented that she’s annoyed – she’s been losing weight and her pants are so loose that she’s got to spend the money to buy new ones?
After all these year, I’m truly surprised to find myself nearly as green as my dry romaine lettuce salad when staring at her deep dish pizza and mozzarella sticks. (And giant chocolate chip cookie, of course.)
But I’m not really. I like the way I eat. (and I do eat a lot more than lettuce!) It keeps me sane. If I ate like Lisa, I’d be purchasing double seats on airplanes – possibly the whole row. I’d be physically, mentally and spiritually miserable.
Besides, it’s just food. And nothing tastes as wonderfully perfect as freedom.