I finally emailed Walton's (dehydrated food). Apparently my order got lost, they are very sorry, rush shipping. Yay! I get my dehydrated food for the disaster kit. Hey, stuff happens.
Monday was exciting. Tuesday was pretty tame. Wednesday we had off, but we ran around and did a lot (like get paid!). Thursday, sure as the sun rises, I went to Walmart. On the way home our ride was late. No biggie. He had a Ford Windstar minivan with the 3rd row seating. I told him I'd put my box of groceries in the back. It has a hatchback, with plenty of room for my box. At first he argued and said he'd put it up front but I said I'll do it, no problem.
He opens the back. He's got a 5-gallon gas can in the back. Not only that, the whole vehicle REEKS of gasoline fumes. It's incredibly nauseating. Ron says something to the driver, who acts like "Of course I have a gas can, doesn't everyone?". We're in Houston. Per capita we have more gas and convienience stores than any other city, I bet. It's very difficult to drive a couple of miles and not find a gas station. So why the can?
It gets better. I gave him his driver candy like I always do. He's eating it and looking in the back at me. I figure, it's not very often you see a 30-something white woman, long brown hair and glasses, married to a grizzled, balding Creole. Not only that, he's totally blind and he's had a stroke. What's with those two? We get that a lot. People try to figure out what we see in each other, I guess.
He finally says something. "You always ride with him?" I told him I usually do but Ron likes to go to Starbucks by himself. "How long have you been with him?" 15 years, I tell him.
"Oh." He says. "You really got fat." I don't know why but it seems like a lot of people, a year after I gained the weight, feel compelled to tell me that I've gained the weight. "What happened?" is a common question. I even had a deaf woman who works the night shift asking me why I got fat, but at least she was concerned. Besides, these days I can't eat the fattening stuff or I'll get a migraine.
The driver repeats himself. I'm fat. I ask him why it is that everyone feel compelled to tell me. Doesn't he think I noticed? At this point Ron jumps to my rescue and tells the driver the medication I take messses with my metabolism (it does) and the body doesn't matter, it's the spirit that's important.
The driver restates himself for a third time, but I ignore him. Where's my boredom?
Yesterday my pants fell off as I was running across a street. I noticed they'd been getting loose, but I didn't know they were that loose. I went home and measured. I've lost 2 inches off my waist in the last couple of months.
Apparently, my new policy of eating fresh, unprocessed foods; organic when possible, is paying off. Yay.
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