Today I'm passing on Margaret Patterson's comments about dieting:
When it comes to diets, I’ve tried them all. Each works great until a king size Snicker that was hiding in the fridge beneath a package of corn tortillas suddenly appears and silently screams, “Eat Me!” Like Alice in Wonderland, who couldn’t resist those same words, I eat.
Fortunately for Alice, eating the cake emblazoned with “Eat Me” only made her grow to be nine-feet tall. My lack of will power is making another part of my anatomy look at least nine-feet wide, even if it isn’t -- at least not yet.
My love affair with food didn’t begin until I stopped smoking. Quitting wasn’t easy. Like most quitters, I tried unsuccessfully to do so at least three times. My family, my doctor, my good sense all told me to quit, but I owe my 40 years of cigarette-free living to one thing -- jerky.
One day during hunting season, my father-in-law was making jerky. He carefully placed strips of soft red meat on trays which he put into a small smoke house.
When the meat came out it was dry, tough, leather-looking, but darn tasty. I took one look at that dark, dry, wrinkled jerky and thought, “That is exactly what my face is going to look like 10 years from now if I don’t stop “taking it to the smoke house.” I quit that same day.
Maybe I should buy a three-way mirror!
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