Journal of a Living Lady #293
Nancy White Kelly
It has been a long, long time since I listened to a teacher explaining the first of Newton’s Laws. You remember, don’t you? Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it.
If I remember correctly, Newton, Aristotle, and Galileo had a difference of academic opinion on the topic. But, as the young folks say, “Whatever.”
Newton and his theories aren’t particularly relevant to my everyday activities today except perhaps to scientifically explain my struggle, especially on Sundays. It takes a lot of strength to keep panty hose from retreating south.
Another Newton gets the blame for that game. Who could forget the taste of those square cookies with a smidgeon of grainy, figish filling? When I was in grammar school, those crumbly bars went so well with a glass of milk. If only I had quit my affair with Fig Newtons back then and there.
But, no, those little Newtons launched my life-long longing for bigger and sweeter treats. And we all know the end result of unrestrained indulgence. Actually I am not as big as I used to be. Cancer and its effect on appetite and a little old age took care of that problem. I never want to be a skinny ninny anyway.
A few of the fat jokes I have read lately remind me that I don’t want to reacquaint myself with fig newtons. It is time to stop when the scale says, “One at a time, please.” I don’t want to get so big I have to iron my pants in the driveway or be mistaken for a taxi when I wear my yellow raincoat.
Now, back to those Sunday pantyhose. Have you ever seen the laughable size of those nylons? I have seen cow fingers bigger than those things. And, I’ve never figured out why they package pantyhose in plastic chicken eggs.
It’s time. On with the panty hose. Sir Isaac Newton knew what he was talking about. The resistance begins just as I cross the bulge and finally get the toes started.
The Lord must know I love him very much.