I’m a Crazy Old Man

It is a paradox . . . that we must get serious about taking ourselves lightly. We must work at learning to play. ~ Julia Cameron

Even though I’m a Libra with the sign of the scales, I don’t own a scale, because I never weigh myself.

Call it crazy or idiotic, but I do not weigh myself because I get depressed when I see the number, which in turn, causes me to eat. That’s the exact opposite of what I need to do, which is lose weight. I eat for comfort, not to mention delectable flavors. So, when I went on my low carb diet, I didn’t weigh myself…not once. I just guessed on my weight and I came up with a target number in mind.

I know what you’re thinking . . . how will I know if I reach that target weight if I don’t get on a scale?

I will know by the way my clothes fit me.

The good news is, all my fat clothes are now big on me and most of my skinny clothes fit. However, I still haven’t reached my target. If you notice, I wrote “most” of my skinny clothes fit, but not all.

Oh yes, so why am I a crazy old man? Well, I explained the crazy part already, so bear with me.

When my brother was twenty-nine years old, he got an old man’s affliction. Maybe it’s hereditary, because as a fifty-something year old woman, I just got that same affliction.

Among other things, my diet requires I eat red meat, seafood, poultry and lots of vegetables. I don’t normally eat much of the first two, but I added more with this diet. Apparently, too much  of those first two food items can cause gout.

On top of not being able to eat pasta, bread, pasta, chocolate, pasta, and chocolate, I now have to limit or eliminate red meat, shrimp (shellfish) and asparagus. Did I mention I can’t eat pasta or chocolate?

My husband and I were looking forward to going to a very large car show this past weekend, but I woke up on Saturday morning and couldn’t walk . . . at all! The pain in my right toe joint was excruciating.

Not only was I in pain . . . I was mad. We’d been looking forward to going to that car show, and now I couldn’t walk. My husband is a car guy. I love that about him. His hobby makes him sexy in my eyes. I told him to go without me, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

I was also angry, because my diet was limited enough already, now I needed to eliminate more, and I’m a semi-foodie.

I called my bro to ask him what he does when he gets gout flare ups, and I bombarded my body with his cures.

Guess what?

We made it to the car show on Sunday. I was able to walk around for a good hour.

There is that childlike “kid-in-a-candy-story” look on the hubs face (above).

And, there he is on the left checking out a Mustang, getting ideas on how to ready his own ’66 Mustang for this car show next year.

P.S. I self-diagnosed the gout. I had the same symptoms as my brother. I do have arthritis in that joint as well, so who knows which it was, but pain is pain.

Have you ever been disappointed that something prevented you from attending a long awaited event?

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