Friday, July 29, 2011


This is my cat.  Her name is not Sugar.
My wife, Sunshine and Happiness is from the South.   Down under, below the Mason-Dixon line, everyone is sugar, sugar pie, darlin or some such.  Waitresses, shop owners, the person standing behind you at the bank.  They're all in on it. There's no discrimination.  It doesn't matter your age, looks, relationship to the person speaking. If you visit North Carolina, Virginia,  Miami (OK not Miami) someone is going to call you sugar.  In Pittsburgh there are no such affectations unless you happen to be like, oh, 80.  I was mortified recently while dining at Lonestar.  S&H needed extra something or other and couldn't get the waiter's attention.  So she yelled across the dining area, "hey  hon, can you come here for a second."  It was like suddenly I had skyrocketed out of middle age and  directly into my "golden years."   

But that's not what this post is about.  

It's about sugar.

Years ago, S&H eliminated all sugar and flour from her diet, started weighing and measuring her food and added karate.  She lost a shitload of weight and now looks like Kim "Sugar Free" Couture.

Do you have any idea how many products contain sugar or flour?

Ummmm, all of them.

I freaked out when S&H decided to try this food plan.  I mean FREAKED.  What did that mean for me?  Was I gonna have to eat that way too?  I have given up alcohol, drugs, cigarettes and bad relationships but I REALLY like my carbs.  In fact I've never met a carb I didn't love.  What to do?  What to do?

Did I mention I am also a Chub Scout?

So I took the plunge and for the past few years I've managed to not eat any sugar, dextrose, fructose, corn syrup or evaporated cane juice.  I also gave up any and all processed flour.  This state of affairs suddenly became very tenuous this afternoon.

S&H and I have a unique filing system called "throw everything into a bankers box and leave it there."  Because of nerves and fears of an audit, I decided to tweak this system and organized all of our important documents by category, (taxes, credit card bills, receipts, marriage license, etc.) and then put them in a bankers box.  Works well, this system. 

For convenience sake I keep the bankers box on the floor of our extra bedroom which doubles as the cats' bedroom.  Around 3:00 PM I went to get a receipt from said bankers box and found cat had puked all over/in it. By the by, cat puke is extremely acidic, just in case you didn't know.  Ate right through the damn manila folders.

What I wouldn't give for a Twinkie.