My Dad bought this set from a door-to-door salesman decades ago. He recently asked if I wanted them. I told him, "Thanks, Dad, but I have all that information at home on a thumb drive." |
This seemed obvious to me because at that very moment I was being forced to write a report on “Washington, George” and had, at loooong last, come to my final paragraph which tumbled out like this:
“An English guy surrendered to George Washington. Then Washington went back home. Then he turned back into a farmer. Then he died. The end.”
The people who caught the last helicopter out of Saigon could not have been more anxious to be finished than I was.
The only thing that could have made this event worse would be having to write a school report about it. |
"Croaked?" I thought. "Yeah, Croaked."
I called to my Mom in the next room.
"Eat until you're satisfied?!"
202 lbs. (Due to the size of my wife, objects in the picture may appear larger than they actually are.) |
172 lbs. (Son, Ben, ain't helping me much either. He's 129 lbs soaking wet) |
Seriously, for most of my adult life I have eaten until I simply can’t take another bite. That’s what "satisfied" had always meant to me. It never dawned on me to stop eating before the bursting point. Why would it? There was more food on the table. My jaw still worked. I could still grip a fork. Why would I stop shoveling stuff into my mouth?!
Five months later I’m 30 pounds lighter and 30 inches slimmer. Next month, I’ll get some blood drawn and find out whether my A1c number has dropped significantly. I'll let you know how that goes, but for now (sigh) I'm done writing. You get the point. Blah, blah. Wrapping up. The end.