“I’m at an all time low,” Larry says as he moves across the bedroom, tucking his shirt into his jeans. “Everything is loose.” I’m leaning against a soft euro pillow, sipping lukewarm coffee, listening to a Krista Tippett interview, reading a few pieces from Dancing Naked in Fuzzy Red Slippers, when my attitude takes a sudden plunge. I look up, give Larry the once over, he looks the same. Moving towards me for a good-bye kiss he says, “A few more pounds and I’ll be at my goal.” He probably didn’t notice my glare. 

He’s gone, the cat’s gone, my attitude is gone, and now I’m starving. What the hell? I get up, waddle to the kitchen in search of chocolate, cold steak, old burritos, I have no standards. I grab a fork, open those stainless steal double doors, mouth watering, ready to plunge. All I see is chicken? 

Then I remember…we’ve had quite on chicken lately. I brought some mystery meat up to the lake last week, indistinguishable, frozen in the marinating sauce. When we got to the lake we discovered the mystery meat was indeed chicken. I already bought chicken for our Father’s Day barbecue on Sunday, Kelley cooked it perfectly, but we have enough leftovers for the rest of the week. And there are several chicken burritos left over from Dante’s birthday. I’m trying to decide if we should have chicken frijatas or chicken salad tonight. I think I just figured out why Larry is losing weight. 

You might also enjoy: Dress for the Weather or Middle-age Penance