Let me start this post out by saying…I know I’m not fat. I’m not writing about this because I think I’m fat or because I want to hear people say how skinny I am. I’m skinny. I get it. Trust me, I know from years and years…and yes, years…of hearing how skinny I am that I am skinny. I get it. I really do. So, save the comments if that’s what you were planning on posting.
That being said, I have a beer belly. I don’t really care if you have a bigger beer belly or that my beer belly is insignificant to you. Again, save the comments. The point is…I have one. I drink a lot of beer. And, while I’m pretty active, I also sit on my ass all day in front of three computer screens. So, there’s a belly, and I can see it. And feel it. I should probably name it.
So, why do I care about my beer belly suddenly? Lake Powell, of course. If my belly accompanies me to the lake, I will have to listen to Big Sis comment about it the whole time. You see, she has this annoying habit. No, not talking to you at VOLUME TEN even though you’re a mere inches away. That’s a different annoying habit (seriously, Tracy…I’m RIGHT HERE!). This is the one shared by my entire family where we pick on each others’ insecurities, abnormalities and differences like there’s no tomorrow. It’s like we’re a family of Jerry Seinfelds and nothing is off limits.
So, rather than have to listen to a comment every time I climb into or out of the boat, I figured I’d take some steps to reduce the beer belly in advance of the trip. Step 1…stop drinking beer (and this means basically stop drinking because I don’t like anything else). Now, that’s easier said than done. I like beer. I really, really like beer. Last weekend’s El Scorcho II trip helped establish my sobriety since there was no beer in HELL. I’ve stayed true to my pledge of no booze until the lake since then. It’s been rough. And, I’ve been cranky. Poor Col.
Step 2…stop eating out. With all my work travel the last few months we’ve fallen into a bad habit of eating out even when I’m home. It’s just so much easier than actually cooking. But, I signed up for Bountiful Baskets for the first time and ended up with a shitload of things I would never consider buying if given a choice (I mean, seriously…Bok Choy?! WTF is Bok Choy???). So, I spent some time on The Google and cooked up a storm the last few days. I’ve made barbacoa beef tacos, Asian chicken lettuce wraps with homemade fried rice and homemade bruschetta with fresh mozzarella. Add in some fresh cherries I picked up at the farmers market and I’m a regular effing Barefoot Contessa. Except without the huge house in New England. And the amazing kitchen. And the Food Network contract. But, hey…at least I just have a small beer belly, right?
So, we’ll see if this tactic works. I’m realizing that I’m 36 now, not 25, so maybe just cutting the fat won’t cut my fat. If not…oh well. I’ll just park my fat ass in a chair at the water’s edge, my cooler within reach and drink enough beer that I don’t care about the comments. Better yet, I’ll just find something about Big Sis to pick on. She better watch out!