I read a cute mantra on social media the other day: We'll all come out of this pandemic either a CHUNK, a HUNK, or a DRUNK. Why do we have to choose? Can't we be at least two out of three?
Unfortunately for me, I am most likely to choose option number one by default. I never was nor will I ever be the female equivalent of a hunk so that's out. I rarely drink, so that's out which leaves me with only one option – chunk. I've been training for this most of my life so I know how to "pace" myself and by that I mean not eat up all my snacks in one day. I can make them last at least two before I have to don my hazard gear and head back out to the big box store.
What else is there to do but keep the snacks stocked when you're afraid to go out in public without your hazard gear for fear the powers that be may have changed the rules on you yet again? Our leaders have opted to quit getting hollered at daily by declaring that from now on we will only follow the rules set forth by the governor. What a good way to "pass the buck." I can't say that I blame them for that one.
Anyhoo, back to the subject of weight.
The last time I felt brave enough to pull the old bathroom scales out of their hiding place and step on them will probably be the last. I made the mistake of buying the latest in technologicallyadvanced scales and, boy, am I sorry. When I stepped on them the display flashed rapidly in red then admonished me that it could only weigh one person at a time. How rude!
Then it scurried back into its hiding place. I think I'll leave it there until this pandemic is over or it learns some manners, whichever comes last.
From now on, my new way of keeping my weight in check will involve stretch pants with a drawstring. When I can no longer tie the drawstring, I'll know it's time to cut back on the snacks. Or buy bigger stretch pants. Stretch pants are kind of like buying a bigger purse, or house. You just know you'll collect enough stuff to fill them up. Maybe that's why stretch pants would be a bad idea. I tend to expand to my environment. I haven't made the shocks in the car groan yet but it's only a matter of time if this pandemic lasts much longer.
One of the handiest tools I've found to ward off the Covid-19 lbs. is a face mask. It's impossible to breathe with one of those dang things on let alone eat or drink unless you want to get creative like some I've seen on social media. I saw masks with zippers, velcro, and buttonholes. One creative person made theirs out of the zipper section of a pair of jeans. It seems to me that mask would be a little hot this time of year. Denim doesn't breathe. I've also seen people using bandanas for masks. How would that keep germs out? I guess it's better than nothing according to popular opinion on social media.
I think I'd rather stick to a traditional mask which would probably work great if I could leave it on but I can't. Has anyone else had issues with wearing one or is it just me? I started out okay. I made a couple of them for David and myself which seemed to work out fine – in the beginning.
The more I tried to wear one, the more I found myself having suffocating panic attacks. I know I'm borderline claustrophobic but jeez, this is ridiculous. As soon as I put it on I'd find myself ripping it right off again. David nags me about not wearing it when we go shopping but I can't help it.
I guess I won't be able to depend on the mask to keep me from gaining the Covid-19 lbs. but neither will staying home all the time. Speaking of claustrophobia – I've got to find a way to get out of the house more or I'll be forced to do something desperate, like cleaning the house. I'm running out of excuses in that department. David went so far as to suggest that cleaning house would be a great way to fend off the weight gain. He may come to regret that remake sometime in the near future. LOL
I prefer to follow the wise words of Erma Bombeck who once famously said: Housework won't kill you, but why take the chance?
The same can be said for fighting off the extra pounds.