Ahhh... bake me a piece

I think I’m eating too much. Gorging on fatty baked goods that can’t be good for me. I remember loving them as a kid and not gaining a kg... but then I remember running around and around with no other purpose but to tag the annoying one in pigtails. Probably helped work off those extra calories. Would it be so very weird if I called the neighbours and asked them to join in a game of tag? ‘You be it, kind sir. You look like you can’t catch an arthritic tortoise.’

That is one problem with this place though. There aren’t that many men bulging at the sides. So getting the neighbours might actually have me being tagged all the time. I’m not fat... oh no no, call me that and watch your back. But exercise? Can’t remember the last time I did that. I’ll probably take a step and drop, wheezing out as I do, ‘Kind sir, tag the hag there...’

I do have an excuse now for not running around in mindless circles. I’m ill, painfully swallowing and feeling a blockage there the size of the subway guy’s ass, before he went on his ‘diet.’ So, instead, I’m lying in bed watching the neighbours have fun without me. Walking in the sunshine...oh wait, the rain...on wait, the insane breeze...See, what I mean? How could that not be fun? Just waiting for the weather to make up its mind... more fun that getting a guy to remember what’s so special about today.

Ah, now there’s a fun game, if ever there was one.’ Is it your birthday? Is it our anniversary? Is it your dog’s birthday? Is it the day we successfully filed our taxes a year ago? Are we getting married today??’

Thinking up ways to ‘subtly’ drop hints does take it out of a person. ‘Oh look, honey, there goes an airplane with one of those trailing signs. Why don’t we read what it says?’

He looks up. ‘It’s...valentine’s...day...you...dim-witted...numbskull...’ A small flicker of understanding. I help it along with a nice lil whack on the head with a sack of chocolates. As the heart shaped pieces fall all around him, it dawns on him. ‘Mother’s day!’

Sadly, those fun days are far away. We’re still in the middle of August. Still in the middle of pointless weather changes. Still in the middle of times when it’s considered a tad insane to run up to a fully grown stranger on the street, punch him on the arm and yell ‘tag’ in his face. Still in the middle of times when a guy will be sure to freeze in terror when you ask him what day it is.

The world’s falling to pieces. Can you blame me if all I want to do forget my sorrows in a nice warm plate of steak and kidney pie? Pass me the mashed potatoes and join me, won’t you?