I had it all figured out- how to eat a whole pumpkin pie, whipped cream and all, without gaining a single pound!
Most middle-aged women probably have more pressing concerns during the holiday season: like how to prepare an entire Thanksgiving feast, entertain family you haven’t seen in forever- in some cases, not long enough; and keep your kids alive, all while maintaining some acceptable level of alcohol-induced sanity.
Admittedly, I haven’t changed much- in many ways, I’m still the selfish only child with a sweet tooth that could put Willy Wonka out of business, and therefore, that pie in all its gluttonous glory, remained at the top of my priority list!
So how was I going to pull off this seemingly impossible feat? Well, I had a colonoscopy coming up, and would have to fast for most of the day prior. On the day of, I’d grab something to eat afterwards, but I’d mainly be catching up on my sleep. That would leave Thanksgiving day to go absolutely crazy on a glorious pie- all to myself!
But first, a trip to the gym was in order because of course, diet and exercise go hand in hand. However, on the way there I noticed that I felt off. I wasn’t just mentally fatigued from lack of sleep- my whole body felt weak. I also got a chill that seemed to keep my hot flashes at bay, but also felt somewhat ominous. I pressed on, honoring my plan. Halfway through my sad little workout, I decided to head on home. At least I went, I said to myself, as if it were some sort of badge of honor.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take long for that badge to manifest itself into a full-fledged bitch slap! Soon I had horrible chills, followed by a fever, migraine, body aches, and fatigue- I truly thought I was dying! The next day I tested positive for Covid, and though my fever and headache had subsided, I now had a severe sore throat for an added dose of hindsight. But hey, at least I was one workout closer to being swole-ugh!
I ended up having to cancel my colonoscopy, and spending Turkey day with my boyfriend Rick, who also had Covid. No pie was consumed during the napping/commiserating that followed. It was just the two of us, accepting our fate and surrendering to the reality that nothing would be as planned.
It was better, actually, because I love this man, who loves me even when I don’t like myself- even when all I do is bitch about pie, and everything else that’s going wrong. He loves me even as I come to the conclusion that I have nothing figured out, and my priorities are laughable at best; sweet tooth and best-laid plans be damned!