After sixty-two years of eating pretty much whatever I want, I’ve been trying to take better care of myself lately.
This is the same philosophy that lets me rev the gas and skid around corners in a new car, but when the engine throws black smoke, the tires are bald and I begin to pack four gallons of water in the trunk at all times, well, then I begin easing onto the accelerator and feathering brake.
So, any who. . .
I read where, if a person does something twenty times, it becomes an ingrained habit. Well, hell, I can force myself to walk around the block for twenty days, right?
Turns out that didn’t work out. I came down with a cough and that cold air we had sweep through last week could not have been good for my lungs. Right?
I decided I’d cut out sugar for lent. That lasted 48 ½ hours or, as I think of it, the worst 2,910 minutes of my life.
Seriously, why would God care if I eat a teensy, tiny bit of chocolate? Does he have some vendetta against the people who work at the Reese’s peanutbutter cup factory?
I thought maybe I’d give up screaming curses at the television. Breaking a habit that raises my blood pressure must surely count as taking better care of myself.
Except, of course, now the idiots in our government have aimed us once again at the fiscal cliff, except for some reason I cannot hear over my own shouting and throwing of shoes, they’re no longer calling it the fiscal cliff.
The only habit I’ve managed to cultivate is taking a baby aspirin each day.
Dr. Oz says that one small action will basically offset the eating of whatever I want whenever I want and getting only the amount of exercise it takes to stroll to the cupboard during commercials for a bag of buttered popcorn.
Okay, maybe Dr. Oz didn’t say exactly that.
But I have a sixty-two-year habit of hearing pretty much only what I want to hear.
What are the chances I’ll break THAT habit any time soon?