Love Handles

Today we went to breakfast with friends.  I’d never been to this restaurant, and like to be reachable by my hubby on such occasions, so I took along my love handles.

According to my doctor (and she should know), before we get subcutaneous fat (under the skin) we already have visceral fat (in-between organs) and intramuscular fat.

The vote is in: I’m a whitey—inside and out.  [Confidential to “Doctor Who” fans:  the clinical name for body fat is …adipose!]

Wiki says the cause for my spare tire is a “net energy imbalance…related to the excessive consumption of fructose.”  The nerve of these people: let’s leave the Fritos out of it, shall we?

[If you’re getting irritated at this blog, you only have yourself to blame: the title gave full disclosure.]

I don’t do enough square dancing to remove this muffin top, and cutting down on what’s causing this carb-gut isn’t doing the trick either.  So I printed off a map depicting a 45-minute walk encompassing historical sites in my town.  My plan is—every time I take this walk—to stop at one of the sites along the way.  One of them is a candy store, MOO-haha!

As a caregiver to a loony old lady, the next part of the obesity article struck a chord:  “…higher volumes of visceral fat…associated with…increased risk of dementia.”  Heck with diabetes and heart disease; I’ve had enough crazy for one lifetime, thank you.

I’m brushing the dust off the treadmill, and—be warned, Mr. So-and-so House—built in 1822:  Candy or not, here I come.

 

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5 Responses to Love Handles

  1. Tamz says:

    I’d love to make that walk with you if you’d have me.

  2. Kim says:

    Love the Cartoon, LOL!!!

  3. Tamz says:

    Let me know when you plan to make your maiden voyage. ‘o)

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