Checking Under the Hood

I took Mr. Ginley in for routine maintenance this past week.

Going to the doctor is such a downer. First, you have the drawing of the blood. The weighing in. The vitals. Then, at the end of it all, the elicited promise to eat better and exercise more.

The older we get, the harder it is to lose weight. Back in the day, dietary transgressions could be erased with a few aerobic sessions or a quick cutting back on the fatty foods.

Alas, this is no longer the case.

So, both Mr. and I are reducing portion size, adding more exercise time and eliminating some of the goodies that are so lovely but so fat-making.

The thing that honks me off is we haven't been all that bad. I know I've been stress eating at work, and I have to address that. But he's mostly been sticking to the plan. Of course, there were the holidays, when we were, as Mr. Ginley said, "making quite merry." A few too many hot chocolates. And Christmas cookies. But certainly not enough to warrant the increase in weight.

Sigh.

It's cruel, really. There should be some reward for aging. Instead, we grow forgetful. Everything creaks. There are pills to take. And when we get misty-eyed and talk about our youth, kids roll their eyes and reach for their cell phones.

The only cool thing about getting older, at least for me, is the realization that there's nothing to be in a hurry for. That, in itself is gold.

But the phlebitis I could do without!