I can deal with the fading eyesight, the thinning hair in the right places and the growing hair in the wrong places. Please God, though, don’t make me eat healthy. I won’t be able to go on.
When I was 18, I graduated high school and was signed on to play college football at a small college. I was desperate to get to 200 lbs. for the program, especially since I was supposed to play offensive line. I know, it sounds like a bad idea already, and you would be correct. I tried lifting, then I realized that it was easier to eat the $1 Whoppers and switch from Busch Light to Icehouse and MGD. Problem solved, until I got to camp and realized I wasn’t bigger, faster and stronger, just fatter. My college athletic career didn’t last to year two, in case you were wondering.
Now I don’t drink nearly as much, eat better and run more than I did then, my shitty old metabolism is not doing its part. Neither is my willpower. My wife had me run to get her a slushie from Sonic. As I was driving there, I thought, “I had ice cream yesterday, I should avoid any sweets.” As I pulled in, I thought, “I’m definitely getting a blast.” “Sorry, sir, our blast machine is broken,” the girl said to me. “Can you still make milkshakes?” “Yes.” Oh thank the heavens! God forbid I take advantage of the situation and skip the ice cream treat, no I’ll find a way to get that sugary dairy product into my swollen gut. “Just pour the milk and sugar into a bucket, I’ll eat it! Anything! I’m a desperate man!”