As I swam my laps this morning I had dairy on my mind.
Cottage cheese as a matter of fact.
Over the years as I’ve scooted up to the:
table/bar/picnic basket/vending machine/convenience store/drive thru/lunch counter/deli/hot dog stand…
I’ve gone from delicate skim milk to large curd cottage cheese on my *ss.
The journey “from” large curd to small curd on the booty isn’t actually as long as the journey “to” but it’s infinitely more difficult.
I was able to perform much of the “to” in the comfort of my very own house, from my very own (& incredibly comfy I must say) couch with a very weighty (metaphorically speaking) remote control in my hand and a large wonderful television at my beck & call.
The “from” is enacted in the dark of night when only the asinine birds are awake & I stumble into a place smelling vaguely of my high school gym (Go Warriors!) and some sort of liniment that you’re only told about after the age of 97.
It’s a slow, arduous process but I do see improvement occasionally in the (funhouse) mirror so I think I’ll continue.
Although, that damned frozen pizza aisle is calling to me & my couch looks longingly at me as I drag my (insert donkey word) back into the house each morning.
I wave a tearful goodbye to my old friend & head back out to (reluctantly) greet the day…