Archives September 2026

Oh, the weekend. The two days that everybody looks forward to. Even if you aren’t working anymore, for some reason the weekend seems freeing: freeing from the quotidian, that everyday grind. When you are retired, there isn’t an everyday grind, but years of grinding creates a mindset. So my husband and I like to plan an event for Saturdays or Sundays.

You know what I mean: something fun. Something that you have to make a plan for. Something that will take up at least part of the afternoon. The people in novels and the New York Times magazine section go out for brunch. Afterwards, they remain at their favorite table, sipping cappuccinos and reading newspapers, or chatting with their friend group who meets at that same cafe every Sunday. They riffle through the papers, discuss the latest book they have read, or gossip about the marriages of the friends who aren’t there.

My husband and I have never done this. I think you only do this if you live in New York, don’t have any kids, and are under the age of 40. The people in my favorite novels do this. I have always wanted to do this.

However, reality is reality. So what do my husband and I do for a big day? We go to CVS. That’s right. We put on our flannel shirts, discuss whether or not to wear socks, gather up our coupons, and get ready to set out. We only do this when we have “good” coupons–none of this “10% off” crap. Nope. We go when we have 35% off, or $5 off, or the best: “25% off your entire order.”

But first, we survey the bathroom cabinets. What lotions are we low on? This is more complicated than you might think, because retired people require assorted types of lotions: eczema anti-itch lotion, retinol lotion to stave off wrinkles, the new “skin activating lotion,” which is for crepey skin. These are just my lotions. My husband needs “extra dry skin” lotion, lotion for athlete’s foot, which he puts in his ears (?), Arnica for those old man bruises he gets seemingly for just existing, and regular lotion for general disbursement.

When we get there, we fill the cart with the various lotions.

We then wander around, looking at the toothpastes, in case there is a new sensitivity product. He shops sunscreens for bargains. I look at all the lipsticks, knowing full well that the two tubes that I have at home have been sufficient for the past twenty years that I have had them. I throw a Miralax in the cart–just in case. He looks at the razors, calling me over to show me “My God, this one has FIVE blades!” We look in the food aisle, wondering who on earth buys groceries at a drug store.

When we pass the travel aisle, we ask one another if maybe we should plan a trip somewhere. But I remind him that I just read an article in the Times that said “Never check a bag,” and “always travel first class,” and we both shake our heads no at the idea of schlepping a bag through those huge terminals, and “Are you kidding me? First class? Who can afford that?”

Finally, we go up to the counter and notice that CVS doesn’t sell cigarettes any more. My gosh, progress has been made. We check out, marveling at the length of the receipt. On the ride home, I tell him that if one of us used Maybelline eye shadow, we could get 15% off next time.

What a day. Fun filled. So fun that we may take naps when we get home.

Unfortunately for me, I have to have a final colonoscopy. Other people my age don’t have to, but because of my history, one more time. Things have changed from five years ago, when all  a person had to do was not eat the day before, and of course, purge. Pretty easy, despite all the liquid consumption.

But no–these days, the doctors require that you go on a low residue diet for a week before the scoping . Low residue involves eating nothing that has any fiber in it. As I discovered, this means basically eating only white food for a week. You can have canned vegetables, but who in their right mind wants to eat canned peas, green beans, or wax beans? Side bar: who wants to eat fresh wax beans? And no fruit? Again with the cans. I gave up canned peaches and pears long before puberty. And applesauce? Who eats applesauce for fun?

I thought this would be easy peasy. I never eat white bread, so I thought that would be a treat. I like mashed potatoes. Chicken is fine. Cottage cheese. Regular cheese. But I soon discovered that all of this food is WHITE, has little flavor, and having to have it for all my meals for a week is almost as awful as that final day when you can’t eat anything, followed by the vile prep juice.

You can’t use seasonings. No pepper, no garlic powder, no onion powder. No paprika, no little flakes of anything green. God forbid you eat anything RED. No seeds. No mayo. No mustard. So if you have a chicken sandwich, it’s dry as a bone. I thought the fact that I could have pancakes was a blessing, but I soured on pancakes after two breakfasts–pancakes are way too much, and I became irritated with Mrs. Butterworth. Here’s the thing about white food: it’s WHITE. Of course, they tout yogurt. I hate yogurt.

I began to dread having to eat. I longed for anything with color. Heck, I would even eat lettuce, as I would end up the week having to have diarrhea anyway. But no. I envied my husband as he gleefully ate olives. He taunted me with celery. I became depressed and lost my motivation. I couldn’t wait for the purge day when I couldn’t eat anything.  Eating nothing seemed better than one more bite of white food.

I will never look at mashed potatoes the same way again.