One Sin A Day

I've been trying to shape up -- as much as a sextagenarian can. I've got to remember that I am no longer a spring chicken, even though I try to think young. The body is not young.

I weighed one hundred pounds on my wedding day, forty-one years ago. There have been a lot of cinnamon rolls go through my mouth in the intervening years. A few days before our anniversary in January -- a distressingly few days -- my husband bought an electronic bathroom scale. I've lost eight pounds since then, and that sounds like a reasonable amount.

I would have lost more but my husband, after buying the scales, has taken a turn toward thwarting my efforts. Granted, he's not made so many chocolate chip cookies or apple breads lately, but he has been a thorn in my hopefully shrinking side in another way.

He does helpful things for a neighbor, one who loves to buy wonderfully gooey treats from The W Store, and since he ought not eat them all himself, he gives them to husband in recompense for favors. Who can resist?

So I garden, and try to exercise my Won't Power. But along comes a church dinner, and I have to (yes, so that I won't insult the woman across the table) indulge in cherry cheesecake, upsidedown German chocolate cake and lemon coconut cake.

I hope everything gets under control before autumn sets in. Just a few more pounds to go to my goal. If I can just keep in down to one sin a day!