Happy Birthday to Me

It was my birthday today a.k.a. annual “@$%#* Your Diet” day and it was downright Dionysian. I’ll consider it my personal Mardi Gras or more appropriately Jeudi Gras. How sad is it that I took two semesters of French in college and I still had to use babelfish to translate the word “Thursday?” Tuition money well spent, eh? (“Eh” is Canadian and that’s halfway French!)

Dinner was a sensible meal of salmon stuffed with feta and spinach, but the sanity ended there. There was pizza for lunch. There was ice cream cake for dessert. There were even truffles. And it was good. Tomorrow it’s back to the coal mines.

My older brother called and we chatted. I remarked that in the past three years our family had lost a combined total of 315 pounds. That’s at least two people we’ve lost without any fatalities. He then remarked he’d actually gained weight, so the total should go down a bit. I tried to feel sorry for him, but it was really hard. My older brother was the one thin person in our family of fat people for years and years and years. I know I should be the caring, empathetic sister, but I find it hard to dig up too much sympathy for his 20 pound or so gain. I’m really just thinking “Welcome to my world, bitch. Enjoy the French onion dip.”