"I'm too short to be the Beast. I am the Unicorn. I have to wear a white unitard."
Most folks in this neighborhood purge their pantries in preparation for Passover. We do it in preparation for white tights season.
Bread is banned. Substitutes are found for sugar. Anything suspected of containing gluten is anathema. Everything dear to a southern fried chef's soul is looked upon with horror. Fall is a carnival of juggling schedules with trying to plan, shop for, and prepare simple, healthy, metabolism-boosting dinners.
Throwing something in the slow cooker that everyone can dig into whenever they arrive home, something that won't sit in the gut and become two pounds gained overnight, isn't all that tough. We get better at it every year. It's the rest of the day that wears away at the willpower, at least it is for me.
The stuff we grab to drink. I've managed to pretty much kick a lifetime soda habit over the summer. Unfortunately that hasn't done much for the battle with my bulge. At my age it takes a nuclear reaction to jumpstart my metabolism. While other ladies of a certain age are boasting about their fitbit numbers, I remind myself that they are retired. I do not, and probably won't ever, have that luxury.
So I keep clinging to that ballet barre, in my baggy tee shirt and leggings. You young skinny bitches can laugh all you want. Because I remember being you, and I know that someday, in a future you can't imagine, you will become me. Bwahahaha!
In the meantime, I'm grating ginger, juicing lemons, and stocking up on honey and apple cider vinegar.