Having lunch at the Olive Garden Saturday wasn’t really such a good idea.
Oh, I enjoyed it alright, although I was pretty much full by the time I had finished the salad and bread sticks. But I did my duty and polished off the “Tour of Italy.”
The “Tour of Italy” is for those of us who can’t make up our minds. Or as Jenny puts it, for those who want to be “little piggies.”
Anyhow, you get a helping of lasagna, another of fettuccine alfredo, and chicken parmigiana, too.
I deserved it, though. I was feeling a little sorry for myself after taking a pair of pants I had gotten for Christmas back to Belk at the Barnes Crossing Mall. They were the same brand of chinos I’ve worn for at least a decade, but they didn’t fit.
Now, don’t jump to conclusions. It wasn’t because I’m fat, although that would have been a logical guess.
No, after all these years, the manufacturer decided to do away with the style that sits at the waist in favor of making only a low-rise with narrow legs.
They made me look like a big scoop of ice cream on one of those small pointed cones. You get the picture.
“Several of my customers have brought these back,” the sales clerk said, trying to make me feel better.
“Maybe they’ll bring out some higher-waist pants in the spring line,” she said.
“I don’t get it. People are getting bigger, and pants are getting skimpier cuts,” I whined to our son Joe, who is so slender he looks fine in low-cut jeans. “Don’t they understand their market?”
Joe said something about my age group being a casualty of the company’s effort to market the brand to younger people. That’s when I headed to the Olive Garden.
I wasn’t feeling any better Sunday morning when I got on the scales. 185.1. That can’t be right, I thought.
I rocked back and forth, thinking I could get it down a pound or two, but I was foiled by technology. We’ve got scales with an LED readout and when it reaches your true weight, it locks and won’t move.
Several years ago, my weight got up to 199 and I made a New Year’s resolution that year to get it down to 170. I even went out and bought a treadmill. I used it a few weeks, decided it was a really boring activity, and it has sat unused since.
I feel guilty every morning as I pass it in the corner of the bedroom. Well, maybe not that guilty.
But I do get a little exercise walking the dogs, and my weight actually got down to 180 before the holidays.
Looking back on the 170 number, I wonder what I was thinking.
This year I decided not to make any unrealistic resolutions. (I’ve got to keep my self esteem, you know.)
So here’s my list:
Don’t eat more than I want. Don’t exercise more than I want. And get my weight down under 180 pounds.
I think these are achievable goals. Well, maybe just the first two.
T. Wayne Mitchell, publisher of the Gazette, can be reached by phone at 662-534-6321 or by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.