The Morning After

I've grown accustomed to spending Saturday evenings by myself in front of the television, but sometimes the good times get even better. Like on days when a friend drops off a box full of bakery fresh chocolate treats, knowing that the week has been tough. Life is good.

Now I realize some people might think it's a little pathetic to sit around all night in sweats while most self-respecting grown-ups are out eating civilized dinners and not sharing their fare with a dog, but what do they know? Here on my dog-hair-infested couch there are no crowds to fight, there is no idle conversation to engage in, I don't have to suck in my stomach, and, most significantly, I do not have to share my dessert.

Lest anyone think I'm just sitting around watching my ass spread, don't be silly! How can I watch my ass spread while I'm watching reruns? I get plenty of exercise; I left the bakery box in the other room so I had to get up every once in a while to fetch my next course. And no, my mind is not turning to mush; I am constantly analyzing the pros and cons of brownies versus cupcakes, with nuts versus without (the jury is still out on the cupcake/brownie issue, but no nuts is the clear winner in what will always be, for me, an open and shut case).

Sure, my social skills may be getting a bit rusty, but they were never very good to begin with. Anyway, Manny seems content with my company and my daughter wants to be with me quite frequently on Saturday evenings,calls me regularly -- whenever she needs a ride. I must have some appeal.

I'll no doubt awake on Sunday morning with a bit of a sugar hangover, but that's nothing a super-sized Starbucks coffee can't cure. Naturally, I'll vow never to eat another morsel of chocolate again, but my resolve will wane as the day wears on.

And all bets are off if any other friends decide to drop off a care package or two.