Food.
The whole gang.
I now know I can have a happy, healthy relationship with EVERBODY.
Cause it’s okay to be friends with a little creamy, buttery, warm, and soft, silky smooth, etc., etc.
We just can’t hang out ALL the time.
ONE cookie is great.
Man, I nibble at that ONE cookie with a great big smile on my face.
Then I say, “later dudes,” and walk away.
The best part is…
I’m still losing a couple pounds a week.
I’m no longer mad.
I’m no longer sad.
And my sense of humor has returned.
Hallelujah!
I’m back!

not my marriage, silly people! Husband is good. He’s alive and, no, I told you before, the book is not about him.
I’m talking about the break-up of my relationship with all my favorite foods. You see, I’ve been indulging in dozens of affairs with, well everything creamy and rich, and salty, and savory, and soft and warm, and buttery, and sweet, and …
Oh,mamma! It hurts too much to talk about them!
You see I’ve made a choice to relinquish my darlings for an uptight, hard-ass, humorless, buzz-wrecking, DIET.
This DIET is supposed to CLEAN out all the crapola in my system and make me skinnier.
Problem is I love crapola and I know, I KNOW it loves me back.
“I can’t live, if living is without you.” This song plays in my head continously. Imagine me singing it softly while swaying back and forth.
Well, of course I can live, but life has lost its luster.
I feel despondent without my good-time friends.
I have crazy dreams about food. Last night I dreamed somebody stole my breadsticks (I suspect these hard little rods may not actually qualify as food) and left me with Melba Toast which I can’t for the life of me choke down.
Am I destined to become thin but sad?
Will I no longer be able to write humor?
The answer to these questions and more … next week.