You know, I’m a pretty nice person. I am really am – I do good deeds. I try to help people whether they are friends or total strangers. I send my mother cards on her birthday, Christmas and Mother’s Day. I share my lunch with my co-workers. I try to encourage other writers to keep at their work. I make Christmas dinners and decorate the house for roomie. If I see a movie or something I know a friend wants I pick it up for them. I listen to telemarketers before I politely end the call. I recycle. I clean up after myself. I pay my bills, balance my checkbook, apologize when I act like an ass. I’m even nice to liberals…
After all that, you’d think that God would let me eat pasta. You’d think that he’d give me a pass on that one thing. (at least Angel Hair)That he keep it from settling in my ass and thighs. I’m not even talking about adding garlic bread here – just pasta.
But no. No such luck. I am destined to eat pasta and be the size of a city bus or pass on it and force myself to eat the lousy anti-pasto. And what’s up with that. Since when do you name foods for being pro or con? Anti-pasto always makes me think of anti-freeze. I suppose the comparison is about right. Pasta freezes up in my system for sure, where anti-pasto slides right through.
But oh to give up pasta…alfredo, bolognese, carbonara, lasagna, manicotti, vermicelli, primavera – red sauce, white sauce, clam sauce, meat sauce….the list goes on and on. And don’t even get me started on noodles and macaroni! It tastes so good going down but once it hits the old metabolism it acts like cement and mortar. Unfair. Totally, completely and absolutely unfair. And really illogical.
Genetically speaking I’m Irish and German – lots of starch in those diets. Shouldn’t my metab be geared to suck that stuff up? Shouldn’t it have the enzymes and whatever to use that fuel instead of storing it for a famine. Hmmm….well there was that famine in Ireland way back…do you think?
So God, I’m asking you puleeze, let me have lotsa pasta. Any time. Anywhere. Let it be the fuel that my body thrives on. Let it go in and let it go out. Instead of it stopping and forming mass in the ass. Let your glorious light shine down on my spaghetti bowl – lead me not into protein but good old fashioned starch. Open up your loving aura and lead me not to covet thy neighbor’s ravioli. Pray with me people. Help this miracle happen! Together we can do it. Let’s all lobby for linguine. Sing for spaghetti. Praise the pasta, people! Let it ring forth from your very souls……
Can I get an amen?