I’m not ashamed to say I’m a follower of Little Debbie’s Facebook fan page. My wife and a few friends have teased me for years about my fascination and infatuation with Little Debbie. Their barbs and jabs don’t bother me, though. They don’t sting or bruise. Little Debbie is so lovely and delicious nothing could ruin our love affair. Nothing could come between us. Nothing could put up a wall between me and sweet, sweet Debbie.
Well, nothing but an ever-growing realization that I’m not 19 any longer, and I can’t hop out of bed and hit the ground running, and that I have a four-year-old to chase around all day, and I have a 14-year-old who is getting better at basketball than me, and that my belt size is rapidly approaching my IQ. There are those things I suppose. And I guess I should add to the list that while Little Debbie will always be in my heart, but she’s also causing it to beat a little less efficiently with every tasty damn bite.
Yeah, I can’t ignore the facts any longer: Little Debbie, as good as you’ve been to me, as much as I love the way you look and taste, and as many good memories as we’ve shared over the years (including that time I ate a whole box of you with a warm Bud Light chaser), it’s time we go our separate ways. You’ve other lives to wreck. I’ve my own life to prolong.
Despite not feeling all that positive, this is a positive move. I’ve been trying to make more of these of late--with varying success. For example, my pledge to quit drinking Coke (for political and environmental reasons) is still intact months later. At one time, there was more Coke in my veins than blood, so I’m proud of this achievement. On the other hand, my pledge to stop ladling sugar into my coffee in the morning was an undeniable failure. I guess I was compensating for the Coke withdrawal. Overall, though, I’ve realized for some time that if I’m going to make it long enough to see my kids make it to their 40s and then revel in watching them having to sacrifice their own vices, I better get in gear and take better care of myself.
I’ve often pondered why I don’t eat better and exercise more. The latter is easy. I played sports from the day I could practically walk, and I’ve remained active since. I can’t run a marathon, but I get by pretty well for a 44-year-old. Still, the cracks are started to show, and I can’t ignore the power of time and gravity much longer. As for eating better, that’s more difficult. One of my theories for my poor food choices is that I gravitate to what tastes good but also what’s not good for me. Subconsciously, I think I’ve used cupcakes and candy bars and so on as a reward system. Facing a difficult day at work for the 100th day in row? Well, a nice cream-filled roll ought to perk me up. Three conference calls this morning and two more deadlines to meet by 3 p.m.? A nice, unhealthy fast food lunch ought to satisfy the soul. Three loads of laundry, supper to make, kids to take to practice, etc. after work? A heavenly bowl of ice cream should take the edge off.
Well, the time to wise up has long passed. The time for action is here. Little Debbie, you beautiful, amazing girl, I’ll miss you. We were good together, but it wasn’t meant to last. Now, go on. You’ll meet someone new. He’ll make you happier than I can.
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