(Funny) sh*t my dad emails…

I received this email from my father this morning about his jaunt to Sam’s Club. 

My father is…quirky.  (I find quirky awesome.)

And he should REALLY be a blogger since he has a way of making the mundane into a carnival of adjectives.

He served in the Navy, was career-long newspaper man, has interviewed a cool array of people like the dude who played the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, was quoted in the New York Times and is maker of a mean oatmeal cookie which he named “Jilldas”. If they have cocoa in them he calls them “Gorillas”. (And, no, I have no freaking idea WHY).

If all of you wonder where I got my flair for the dramatic, fancified vernacular and ability to turn two sentences into eleventyhundred or so, wonder no longer.

This is my dad: 

What an ungodly time of year to be on a diet.
 
I just knew my intrepid search for the lost skinniness of my youth might be in jeopardy, if I took the risk going to the local Sam’s Club for “necessary”things. You know the kind, nothing to torment the pallet—just plain old  things like sweet onions to keep the breath nice and be distance-free from the loved ones; Glucosime Chondoitin and Omega III pills to make the aching joints perform just a bit better. No frills here, you understand.
 
But I sensed danger ahead, and was not disappointed.
 
Safe at last, I thought,  from dropping off the diet wagon and breaking the wheels. So with cart empty of anything rewarding to a hungry soul, I yet had to pass by the array of goodies that  would permanently put one back on the “fat arm” for another season.

It wasn’t as if I had no willpower to stay on my diet, but the morass of those pesky Christmas delights seemed everywhere.
 
It was as if someone, perhaps ultra-thin, super devoted “buyers” [ you know the type-- those who  never gain a pound  in their lives from an array of chocolate turtles or sugery bon-bons]were in collusion with the red-costumed elf to fill the shelves chock full.
 
But, undeterred, I pressed on to the check-out counter, unfazed by what I saw.
 
I passed the designer popcorn, the stacks of fancy boxes with design-printed chocolates, a barrage of sweet and savory treats in fancy containers, caramel chewies, and all kinds of tempting things that guarantee loss of a notch or two in the belt.
 
Alas! An epiphany crossed my brow.

Just ahead was what COULD be if I resisted all those goodies, and stuck to boiled chicken and greens. There were shirts I could button all the way down;  flashy new coats for winter–things that seemed not to be designed by small mid-East workers.
 
Out the store I went, with sweet onions, Glucosomin/Condroitin, Omega III, and, leaving the bon-bons behind, I had renewed dedication to the diet and return for some of those “fit-able” clothes, after someone else had emptied the shelves of goodies.
 
Still, it remained an ungodly time to be dieting!

:(

I MIGHT have added the emoticon to that last thing, but I am a firm believer that my father would TOTALLY USE THEM. You know, if he knew what they were. ;)

Heh.