I received a text the other day from my metabolism. It retired to Boca Raton in 2011 and has been playing canasta and doing Zumba ever since. Break ups are never easy and this one was definitely tough.
Occasionally I will run into a friend who saw my metabolism at a Chili’s Restaurant when vacationing there and report that it looks wonderful. Rested and suntan and living its best life.
Why not? It should look amazing! My metabolism hasn’t worked a day for over seventy years.
It decided to go off the clock when I was ten and hasn’t done an hour’s work ever since.
I remember many times when I would exercise to give it a boost and I heard snoring inside me. I walked miles on the treadmill, sweating and panting to lose even an ounce and the lazy bugger slept.
Oh, so too busy to be bothered with doing your job huh? And I ran harder, my face red and filled with agony as my metabolism just snoozed and acted like it didn’t have a care in the world.
As you can imagine it was quite a hostile relationship. Believe me I tried, but it was obvious we were totally incompatible.
Yes, I admit it. We didn’t get along. We fought more than a married couple who hatred one another, but stayed together just to torture their mate.
The battles were constant. No matter how little I ate, it would all go straight to the fat cells.
It didn’t pass go, collect 200 calories or ever have a face to face with what should have been the guard at the pudgy portal.
My metabolism lazed like a sleeping security man as someone robbed the jewelry store.
In fact, I’m not sure it wasn’t inviting more calories in to join the party.
“Hey chocolate chip cookie here’s a place for you in her midriff. Come on guys let’s do an all- butterscotch bash in her boobs. PARTY ON!
So many of my friends refused to show up when I threw a don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-in-the-ass gala for my absent metabolism. They too were disgusted by the way it had treated me all those years.
I was like a wife divorcing a husband who had beaten her every day and kept the boxing gloves as a memento of their time together.
Growing up I do remember my metabolism complained a great deal. “What the hell is this new diet pill? I told you I hate Metrecal!”
Sunday nights when I was a kid and my family went out for Chinese food, it always grumbled I wasn’t eating enough. “Hey scarf down that extra egg foo young so I won’t be hungry in an hour.”
Few times do I remember my metabolism actually happy. It did seem pretty overjoyed though when I ate hot fudge cream puffs at Sanders, a favorite Detroit confectionary store. Then it was a happy camper. It knew that none of those thousands of calories I was ingesting would disturb its sleep.
It absolutely jumped for joy when the Good Humor truck came ringing its bell down our street. My metabolism was very partial to ice cream sandwiches and why not? It got all the fun and no work.
Meanwhile it never cared that I was the one constantly busting out of my clothes and gaining more weight than a politician’s bag full of lies.
So I’m guessing Boca is the perfect place for my metabolism to retreat. Still, retire from what I have no idea. Why would it even need to lay back when it never worked anyway?
When it told me it was moving to Boca of course my first question was why, when it had never done anything to retire from? I was shocked at the anger that blew back in my face.
“Seriously, I’m really sick and tired of hearing you bitch about me. I have ears and I hear the way you talk about me to your friends, your family, anyone on earth who will listen to you complain.
“I have feelings you know. No one likes to hear that they are a lazy good for nothing every single day non-stop.
“Wah, wah, wah, I can’t eat a crumb without gaining weight. Boo hoo, my pants don’t zip. Well. Cry me a river, Bitch. I’ve had it. How in the world could any metabolism keep up with your chocolate cravings? Your need for pizza or excuse me, it’s obvious you never learned that a pint of Hagen Das is not one serving.
“I tried to make this work. I attended meetings for abused metabolisms and we all decided finally to get out and enjoy ourselves in Boca.
“The food is good the weather is great and you can always find a card game. I had no intention of spending the rest of my life listening to you blabber about your weight gains, your tight clothes and your inability to eat thousands of calories with no consequences.
“Let me bring out my violin and you can sing your sad song as you jump on the scale for the fiftieth time today.
“But I won’t have to hear it, cause I’ll be in Boca living the life.
“You enjoy your calorie laden treats and licking out the center of those Oreos, but I’m taking a pass.”
I was speechless. Okay, only for a minute and I shot back. “Well go on. Be lazy run away from your responsibilities. I should have known you’d cop out and leave me high and dry!”
“See ya, tubby,” it said as it walked out the door, suitcase in hand and smiling like a lobbyist passing out graft.
I just sat down in shock pondering how I’d survive without a metabolism when it struck me.
How much did it weigh? Could I have lost a few now that it was gone?
I ran to the scale and jumped on. Down two pounds.
Good riddance I thought as I walked into the kitchen to celebrate with a slice of leftover pizza.
I feel lighter already I whispered to no one in particular. Hmmm, how much does an appendix weigh?
NormaZager.com 