224 Days to Go!
I made an amazing discovery this past weekend. Despite what I might have previously thought about genetics, laziness, personal responsibility, and an inability to push away from the dinner table, it’s not my fault I am fat. The Air Force is totally to blame. Or, to be more specific, the commissary. And not for the reason you might think …. the fact that whenever I shop the cookies and candy and junk food has a tendency to fly right off the shelf and into my cart …. No, the reason is much more sinister and under-handed. It’s those damn “Work for Tips Only” baggers.
As anyone who has ever shopped in a military grocery store knows, baggers work for tips only. A fact they bring to your attention over and over with at least a dozen signs on every check-stand and notices plastered all over the doors. Since I shop with a credit card and rarely carry cash, I often find myself at the commissary, frantically digging in the seat cushions in the van for spare change. That’s embarrassing, so I try to remember to carry a few dollars whenever I go.
Last Sunday I got to the commissary and realized all I had in my wallet was a twenty dollar bill. I don’t care *HOW* friendly and helpful the bagger might be …. short of doing the shopping FOR me, there’s no way I’m tipping someone twenty bucks. So I drove over to the BX to find something, anything to buy, to break my twenty. But since it was a Sunday morning, nothing was open. Nothing except the kiosk selling heaven on a plate: Cinnabon. Sure, I know what you’re thinking ….. I could have just bought a small coffee and gotten change --- but I don’t *drink* coffee and that seemed wasteful. And I certainly could have bought a diet soda and simply been on my way. But there stood the cashier at Cinnabon, who had been “Baking Fresh Daily” (I know that because I can read other signs, too, in addition to the “Baggers Work For Tips Only” signs) and there was no way I could NOT get a cinnamon roll …. She was so friendly, so customer-service oriented …. Plus, I'm pretty sure they lace the air surrounding the kiosk with some sort of opium additive or something. To NOT buy a cinnamon roll seemed rude, almost insulting. And to buy the roll and then throw it out, well, anyone who knows me knows THAT ain’t happening. So I bought the roll. To break the twenty. To get some change. To tip the bagger. Who works for tips only. Because that’s the way they do it at the commissary. So it’s the Air Force’s fault that I’m fat. If I didn’t have to tip the bagger I wouldn’t have to eat the roll. And for the record, I did not enjoy any part of the cinnamon roll. Even the yummy, gooey icing that I practically licked off the plate.
And as more evidence, check out the comment Kendrie made to me the other night: I was sitting in the living room with all the kids while Kellen showed us his muscles. (A favorite pastime of his; I have no idea why.) So then Brayden had to show her muscles, and then Kendrie. They asked to see my muscles, and as I raised my arm in my sleeveless shirt, Kendrie pointed to the flab hanging off my arm and said, “Oh, look, Mommy’s got muscles in the BOTTOM of her arm!” (To add insult to injury, Blaine has LOST fifteen pounds in the past month due to his surgeries ……………….. bastard. I won't have to look hard to find them.)
Other comments made by Escoe kids this week:
I made a new brunch casserole this past weekend which Kendrie obviously didn’t like, based on the terrible, scrunched up face she was making as she choked down the bites she was required to eat before being allowed to leave the table. I looked at her, and the awful face she was making, and said, “Do you really hate it that much?” to which she replied, “No, my face always looks like this when I’m eating eggs.”
Brayden, talking about a boy she has in her class: “You know how Kendrie is a girl but she wants to be a boy and dresses like a boy and we call her a TOM-boy? Well, J. in my class is a boy, but he acts like a girl and talks like a girl and says he wants to be a girl … so that makes him a Tom-Girl, right?” And all I could think was, “Honey, that is **SO** not what it makes him.”
And finally, my favorite, proof that our children are indeed watching us and listening to us when we’re not aware …… and you just never know what habits or comments they might begin to mimic and use for themselves. Kellen and Kendrie were in their bedroom last night, settling in to bed for the evening, when the dog must have passed gas …. You know, the heavenly aromatic fragrance of rose petals wafting in the breeze …. And Kellen said, “Eww, something stinks!” to which Kendrie replied with a giggle: “Maybe it’s your UPPER LIP!”
These kids crack me up.
WORST PART ABOUT HAVING CANCER TODAY: Oh, this is SO easy. Last night was my first night of oral methotrexate since they increased my meds due to the roly-poly waistline I OBVIOUSLY inherited from my mother. So after taking my TWELVE pills last night, not only did I wake up this morning feeling crappy, and not only had my mom not refilled my Zofran prescription …. She wasn’t even home! Some crap about setting up for a Teacher Appreciation Breakfast. So Daddy had to take me to school, walk me to the nurses’ station, and get one of my zofran out of my school stash just so I could feel better before school started. Applications for my new mother figure will be accepted on Tuesdays after 4pm.
BEST PART ABOUT HAVING CANCER TODAY: Luckily she got the Zofran prescription refilled and I felt much better this evening … just in time for t-ball practice. My first scrimmage is Saturday; wish me luck! Can you believe there is a “no jewelry” policy and my mom had to get special permission for me to wear my medic alert bracelet? I guess on second thought …. She *does* have my best interest at heart, even if letting me run out of Zofran was a pretty big lapse on her part. She must have been daydreaming about a cinnamon roll.