fridgeMy recent spinal surgery played a dirty trick on me despite the great success it was as far as relieving me of a lot of pain.  It did not, however,  relieve me of some of the excessive pounds I’ve been involuntarily carrying around for several years.  Now, it is entirely fair that I should not have expected to lose weight because of the surgery…but I certainly did not expect to gain some either.  And that, dear friends, is the dirty trick that I’ve been dealing with for the past three months since the operation.  I am at my heaviest—-ever!

I have learned that trying to lose weight, and keeping it off permanently, is one of the toughest assignments you can put down in your assignment book.  Dieting was a very rude awakening for me about twenty years ago. Up until that time I had always been skinny–still am in most parts of my body except in the same location where most people suffer from excess fat…around the waistline.

I inherited my father’s body.  He had no money to leave me so instead he shared his genes.  He was skinny most of his life–just like me.  But when he hit his senior years his midsection took off like a freight train hitting the down side of the mountain.  He drank a lot of beer so I naturally attributed his excessive girth to his excessive consumption of the brown long necks that fought with the chocolate milk for shelf space in the fridge. Now, having accumulated a similar length of inches around my midsection with as much as a speck of Bud or Miller, I feel bad having so misjudged the cause of his problem.  It wasn’t beer.  It was excessive eating, especially late at night, and lacking the discipline to simply…STOP IT!

Okay, let’s get this over with:  Hi, my name is Marc and I am a heavy ice cream abuser.  I can eat ice cream with my morning cup of coffee and not even miss the Cheerios™ with a sliced banana.  I not only have a large bowl every night, I spoon-graze throughout the rest of the day, and night.  When I first get serious about dieting, which takes months to reach the actual attempt level, ice cream is the first thing I give up.   Right now, for example, I have not had any ice cream–not a lick–for at least three weeks.

Like any addict would, I am going through withdrawal. I get lots of angst in my gut, along with the shakes, the pacing restlessness and the shameless pursuit of a substitute substance.  This could be chocolate pudding, jello, cold leftover mashed potatoes …anything that remotely resembles a spoonful of cold, creamy, succulent mint chocolate chip.  I know what is coming.  It’s happened many times before.  There will be an evening when I begin cursing the dirty trick I’ve been dealt, rationalizing that ice cream is a part of my body composite so I may as well accept it and relieve myself of the anxiety, anger and aggravation that has been accumulating within the corridor that runs between my navel and cerebellum.  I will finally cave, grab the car keys and off I’ll go to the supermarket for my fix.  See, like I admitted…I am an full-fledged, scoop-carrying addict.

Keeping the kitchen well stocked has always been my responsibility.  In my skinny days it was not a problem.  In my fat golden years it is.  When I roll up and down the  supermarket aisles, I am a masterful artist who knows where every item is located and which of those I will deftly maneuver from shelf to cart with no thought of calories, fat and sugar content or the overall erosion of my intestines it will cause.  I think only pleasant thoughts….taste, oral satisfaction, sense of contentment and the delightful sensation of true love between substance and oral need.

The best way for me to lose weight, I’ve decided, is to turn the grocery shopping responsibilities over to Rosemarie.  Here is why:  she eats less than a bird.  She demands almost no food at all to exist. That, along with her hatred of grocery shopping, means her trips to the supermarket would be just about non-existent.

The amount of edible commodities in our house would be reduced down to a single box of raspberry ice pops and maybe a six-pak of applesauce cups.  If I were to try this, I will definitely lose weight.  It may be my only hope.  It may also lead to your seeing one of those short obscure newspaper stories buried on or near the obit page.  It would be about a man who was found passed away…a mere shadow of himself transformed into a flat mass of material resembling some kind of previous life form. He was discovered in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator with one arm stretched out reaching for a small, aged and torn wrapper from a long-gone pint of Chunky Monkey.  Oh the Humanity.



About Marc Kuhn

I am a retired radio exec. I've worked at major stations in Philadelphia, Washington, D.C. and Miami. That was then. This is now: I've published seven books and this blog thingy. Need to know more? Really? Okay, I bare/bear all at The other links are for the websites of each of the books I've written. I've been busy! Hope you'll stop by and check them out. Thanks for your interest!
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