Search This Blog

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

It's better than the gym...

Do men retain water? I've been wondering about this. Periodically, I do. No pun intended, although I don't really know why people say that. I realized I made a pun. I didn't do it deliberately but there it is. So I apologized for it. But...I then left it there. If I didn't want it there I could just take it out, that's why God invented the ability to highlight with a cursor and hit the delete button. But some idiot, somewhere, made a pun, said "no pun intended" and now it's pretty much cliche.

Anyway, back to the water retention problem. Since I've been enjoying the freedom of menopause, I thought that maybe the bloating would go away with the rest of it. No, not really. I can't set a clock by it but yeah, I bloat. It usually takes me at least 24 hours before it dawns on me though. Because up until then, I get pretty worried that I've had a 20 pound weight gain. Overnight. My fingers, which usually look like Farmer John breakfast sausages anyway, suddenly start to resemble the overstuffed Italian Sausage the local deli keeps in the meat case. The ones with fennel seeds. The fennel seeds look sort of like the age spots and freckles. Yeah, those days of smooth, silky alabaster skin are loooooong gone.

My watchband starts to cut into my wrist and none of my shoes fit. So I lay on my back in bed at night, thisclose to hyperventilation, wondering what horrible thing is happening to make me swell up like a hoppy toad. Round at the slimmest of times, my face now resembles a smiling Buddah. I've decided I spend way too much time lounging on the couch watching check flicks and the 20 extra pounds I carry around in my butt alone is sliding around and settling in other places. I'm guessing I'm possessed.

After about 36 hours or so of this I realize I have to pee. This thought usually hits me when I'm either on a bus, 2 hours into a suspense movie that clocks in at 2 hours and 15 minutes, or while I'm crammed into the middle of a church pew on Easter morning.

After about 4 hours I realize I might as well just stay where I am, maybe bring a book or some needlepoint in with me because all the liquid I've been chugging for the last two to three days is now making a break for it. The up side of this is that now I feel cool, my normally too big paste wedding set (my actual wedding set is currently vacationing at a pawn shop. Don't ask.) is now loose on my finger, my watch flops around nicely (I always wear my watch very loose, I don't know why I like it that way but I do) and my shoes fit. Well, as much as they ever fit, I wear a size 10.5, which no one makes so I'm usually crammed into a 10 because I walk out of 11s)

This last time, however, I decided to sign on to Weight Watchers and start counting points...about an hour prior to the inevitable flood gates opening. I am, on day THREE. I haven't weighed myself, no one should have to witness something like that, including me. Besides, well, yeah, there's no besides, it's just depressing and I mean, hello? I'm starting to look like I'm seven months and I lumber, I KNOW I weigh about the same as Jabba the Hut.

Well, so far I'm having fun with this. I have made momentous discoveries. I have discovered that Starbuck's has a frozen delight and they make it in a "light" variety. Grande Caramel Frappucino - Light. 2 points, 3 with whipped cream. I'm torn about this though. In the first place, there's an independent, neighborhood coffee house here in the urban village and I really like to go there. They're both within walking distance from the apartment, in fact, they're damn near across the street from each other.

Gorgeous, isn't it?

But the little coffee seller, while they make a mean cafe au lait, doesn't make gooey things that sort of resemble a coffee margarita. But I feel really hip walking around like the young folk, on a summer night, with my fancy coffee drink, waiting for my son on the local mini mart while he buys his nightly ration of lottery tickets.

So it's a really good thing because I also walk to Starbuck's. So I get my exercise. It's probably not a LOT of exercise but it's a helluva lot more than I get sitting on my azz watching "Mamma Mia!" for the thousandth time. I feel urban. I live in an urban village and the barristas recognize me. Actually I think they recognize me because I'm usually accompanied by an extremely tall, charming, curly headed young man who's rather easy on the eyes, but I'll take it. I'm wondering. Does anyone know just how to make a Caramel Frappucino? Because I sure as hell don't. So how do I know it's really light? They could be making me the same one they make for everyone else, I wouldn't know the difference. Maybe it's some great, big cosmic practical joke. And another thing. If it's "light" why does it cost the same? Shouldn't it cost less? I assume they're not putting the good stuff in it, so shouldn't it be reflected in the final price? I think it's about time all this lard actually benefited something, even if that something is just my bank account. "I'm sorry, you're the size of Lake Michigan so we're not putting sugar in any of your food, butter either. Your bill has been adjusted to reflect these omissions."

Which brings me back to my original men retain water? Since I never see guys walking around with spiffy, whipped cream topped coffee drinks I'm thinking...NO. They NEVER seem to have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and they all have bladders the size of a stock pot.

They're missing so much.

No comments:

Post a Comment