This morning, I took the boss’ dog to the vet. I was so relieved she weighted only 43.5 pounds, as had she weighed 45 pounds, her owner would put her on a diet. I tend to be more live and let live. I appreciate some people, or dogs, prefer the taste of hot fudge sundaes, or beef fat scraps, to collecting attention for having a ripped, muscular body. Some people would even prefer a long cigarette drag to a longer life. Who am I to judge?
I recall in my college years being counseled not to try to have everything my parents had worked thirty years to build up when I started out on my own. We were told we could use orange crates for furniture, rent instead of mortgaging, keep a jalopy on the road as opposed to getting a nice, new Chrysler, and keep on enjoying the college treats of 3-for-a-dollar macaroni and cheese instead of making Better Homes and Gardens spreads.
Today is different. People cannot live in trailers or crowd into apartments. They ought not even bypass the flagstone fireplaces with cathedral ceilings, the granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. That would be stigmatic. Kids ought not eat ramen, as they are supposed to eat locally-grown, organic produce. Third-world countries ought to be denied the option of trying to stay warm with coal or wood or anything with carbon emissions, and now children ought not benefit from contributions of comfort-food corporations, who keep prices inflated in order to make gifts to charity, like McDonald’s and its Ronald McDonald house for children and Krispy Kreme with its Krispy Kreme Challenge. No, this winter season – while normally food-insecure children don’t even have access to free and reduced school lunches – be sure you only donate the purest of locally-grown organics.
But, who am I to judge? If consenting adults get their jollies dictating over the weak and they hook up with those who get their jollies submitting their children to irrational power plays, that’s their affair.
