You see, on snow covered streets with a rear wheel drive 12 passenger van, when no one else is around, of course, I like to drift around the curves. I could totally take that curve slow, but I like the feel of the back end (more about those in a minute) of my van drifting and then reigning it back into proper drive position.
It is especially fun to drift in the empty church parking lot. Hopefully no one feels the need to call the police…because, yes, I am crazy, but I am just a common housewife having a moment of “stunt car ninja-ness”.
Anyway, back to butter. I had mentioned that the streets were just like butter, to which he, my son, replied that he likes butter just as much as the next person, but not nearly as much as, “you do, Mom.”
I quickly informed him that something happens to you when you hit the age that your fat starts to make deposits on your butt and tummy. Your body starts to cry out, “Give me butter!” Your tongue, too, joins in the campaign, “Give me butter! Coat me in butter! Sure, it will taste good on that brownie, just like frosting without the sugar, so it’s healthy!”
Anyhow, he laughed at that, but then I thought about where my fat deposits and how the other night when there was a birthday party for a friend at a local bar&grill and they had seating for 25 and I was gonna sit by a friend I don’t usually get to sit by and get to know her better and I looked at the seats that were less than an inch apart (c’mon people, I mean, even skinny mini’s with thigh gaps would have trouble navigating that) and I think to myself that even in my 75 pounds less than 5 years ago body these hips still bear the marks of child bearing and rearing and crafter's spread and I panic and move to the end of the line of tables and the sanctuary of wider spaced seating. (there, that’s the part about rear ends…definitely not as fun as drifting)
Then I told my son that it would be so much easier to quiet my body’s cry for butter if my fat deposited elsewhere on my body, like, I don’t know, say my ankles or my feet and hands. Now THAT might motivate me to quiet those voices. Could you imagine if instead of making elastic waist pants they had to completely rethink shoes and gloves? I mean, think of picking up a pencil and trying to write…oh, wait, I forgot my age for a moment... maybe I should say trying to type on a keyboard if your fingers were the size of bratwursts…or trying to pedal your bike or even drive a car. What an interesting world it would be.
At least then the only big back end I would have to worry about is the one on my truck(van. It’s a van, but I had a suburban once and can’t break the habit of calling it a truck, cuz it is so big and roomy…baby’s got back!”) as I spin donuts in the church parking lot!
Laugh a little today!
A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones!