Archives July 2024

Let’s talk about food. I’ll start with the fact that whenever we eat at friends’ houses, I am stumped with how they all seem to be able to eat about a quarter of what’s on their plates and then stop. As if they are full. Meanwhile, I have finished every morsel of my first helpings, and I need more. For instance, there are more than enough chicken thighs on the serving platter for everybody to have two, but I am the only diner who reaches for a second thigh.

Do people eat sandwiches before they go out, so that they can do this skimpy dining? Or is everyone else on the planet satisfied with one chicken thigh, two slices of roasted potato, and one roasted carrot? And the salad–when the hostess brings out the salad bowl for eight guests with what looks to me like barely enough salad for two people?

Corn. On the cob. Every other person has one ear, and they seem completely satisfied. It’s corn season, folks–as far as I am concerned, every person should have at least three ears for dinner, because come September, there will be no good cobs available.

It’s even worse in restaurants! I can eat a whole calzone by myself. But I know couples who split one. Or worse, they order a single entree to split. Imagine having half of a pork chop and two tablespoon of mashed potatoes. It’s just wrong.

Dessert. Don’t order a piece of pie and four forks, for God’s sake. And yet, everybody seems to think this is just fine. As for me, getting but one bite of Key Lime is gustatory sin. Do we all feel that if we get our own dessert we will be harshly judged for gluttony?

I wonder if the people who can’t seem to finish their dinners in the restaurant take their styrofoam boxes “for lunch tomorrow” finish them the minute they get in the door. I can even imagine them cramming French fries into their mouths in the car as they leave the parking lot. I have never in my life asked for a box. Oh, no.

Does this mean that I am truly alone in all this? Perhaps “everyone” is normal, and I am actually way too hungry? Should I order one dessert and four spoons? What if it’s ME?

Oh, no.

Why does it get boring every afternoon around three? Are naps things that everyone takes but nobody admits? Do people who see me in the elevator think I am old? How come pedicures last so much longer than manicures?

Why are YouTube videos so engrossing? Do my daughters spend as much time on their phones as I do? Do other people get all of their news on Social Media? Is the election going to happen before the world ends?

What does the tooth emoji mean? What if I want to use the eggplant emoji to mean an actual eggplant? What does FWIW mean? Have they stopped using LOL? Why do they have ads on all the streaming services now?

I am in favor of “intuitive eating,” even though I am not sure what it is. Popcorn is addictive, I do know that. Since I started eating so much fruit, ice cream seems too sweet. Most people cook corn on the cob too long. Butter spray is actually pretty good.

Thirty minutes of exercise a day is enough for a person to lose two pounds a month without changing their diet. Even if you eat a lot of popcorn. Ten thousand steps a day is ridiculous. I can’t do the Asian squat.

Can you divorce the artist from the art, even if the artist is Woody Allen? I never really cared for Alice Munro. Elon Musk is a nut job, but if they had charging stations in our parking lot, I might get a Tesla. I think I read somewhere that Dr. Seuss was a racist. Goodnight Moon is a very scary book; I never read it to my children…

I know people who won’t get colonoscopies because of the prep. Men should do breast exams on themselves. I couldn’t spell diarrhea until I worked for a veterinarian. If a cat vomits, it’s probably ok, but if a dog does, you should worry. I once started reading a novel that mentioned “adult breastfeeding,” and so I returned it to the library.

I have lived in this apartment for five years, but I have never dusted the Venetian blinds. If you brush your cat daily, you won’t have fur balls on all the rugs. I almost never brush my cat. Declawing cats is illegal in California, but it’s because of Gavin Newsom. I wish he were running for President. But President Biden is not too old; he just stutters. And the news is disastrous daily; now they are shooting at one and trying to drive out the other one. Americans are reeling.

You should not put butter on sandwiches. Mayo is what you should use. Mustard is good, but only Dijon. When I was in grade school, my mom packed me a bologna sandwich and an apple every day for lunch until I gagged in the lunchroom. I told her, and from then on, she bought me a lunch box with a thermos and I got soup and Franco American spaghetti for lunch. I went from crap lunches to gourmet lunches, and I hated both. All I wanted was the occasional Frito and maybe a tangerine.

I can’t text with my thumbs; I make too many mistakes. How do the kids do this? What is Snapchat? Is there some woman named Ashley Madison? What is Roblox? Do you have to use hashtags?

Should I start vlogging? What IS a vlog?

Dayton, Ohio. Saturday morning. A busy day ahead.

Do you remember when you used to make fun of old people? You know, the ones with boring lives? We are no longer making fun, because we are not young. This is the dismal truth. I still have trouble grappling with the fact that some of our neighbors in the building “check on us” whenever an ambulance pulls up. My God! But facts are facts.

So. What is a busy Saturday like for old people like us? Well, here is a bullet list:

• Have a grocery meeting. What do we need? What will we have for dinner this week?
• No meals with black beans; we had enchiladas last Tuesday.
• Check to see if we need olive oil.
• Make addendums to the list.
• Grab the reusable bags.
• Head to Kroger, where they have remodeled the store; it is now HUGE.
•  Search for dill pickles; the dill pickle aisle is not where it used to be.
• Chat briefly in the cookie section with a neighbor, and remind husband that he HATES Vanillla Wafers. He looks me in the eye and places them in the cart.
• Eye the self check-out and decide once again not to try it. Maybe next time.
• Try not to explain to the checker why we are buying three different types of mouthwash. He doesn’t need to know our business. No matter how tempting it is to discuss plaque and such.
• Load up the trunk, congratulating ourselves once again that we got one of those shopping wagons, to make lugging stuff into the elevator SO much easier.
• Listen as my husband makes small talk with the man in our building who has a brand-new Mercedes. The man says, “Yes, yes!” A lot.
• Gently take my husband by the elbow and whisper into his ear, “Charlie, that man does not speak English…”
• Unload the groceries upstairs, shaking the box of Vanilla Wafers and pointing out that these will end up in the trash.
• Discuss at length what show we will watch after dinner–Grantchester or D I Ray?
• I vote for Grantchester, since I have been confused by D I Ray from the get-go.

This is only SATURDAY. The rest of the week is nearly this exciting.

Docks, sails, lobsters, linen pants. Fires on the beach. Parties. Adultery. This is what summer vacation is about in all of the books I love.

Covid. Benadryl. Kleenex. Staying behind when everybody else goes to the Safari Park. This is what my summer vacation was about. Not one person at any of the airports we were in wore a mask. I didn’t, either, because don’t we all want to live in a post-pandemic world?

It began with a slight rough feeling in my larynx area. I tried to ignore it. By the evening, it was worse. Then came the chills followed by hotness. This was followed by eye rolls from the rest of the group, who witnessed my covid at the last family vacation. But by the next morning, I had given it to everybody, and they all had coughs but proclaimed that “it’s just a cold.”

I knew better, but since I was the only one getting worse, I let it go. There weren’t any tests around. None of the others seemed upset, despite the fact that I had become a super spreader. They just coughed and left for the golf course.

The end of the trip came, and everybody went home. Not us. We had to move to a hotel and change our flights home so I could be even sicker. We have been home now for five days. We both tested positive when we got back. However, my husband was hale and hearty enough to go golfing, but I have been in the same pajamas for the five days since we got here. The world goes on, but for some reason, my covid is sticking around.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will get up, take a shower, put actual clothes on, and accomplish something, even if it is to stay upright until after lunch.

Mask up, comrades!