When Candy Hurts

Egads, where did this weight gain come from? This is worse than when I gained 20 pounds in my first two months of pregnancy and feared never seeing my feet again. Right now I'm only slightly smaller than my house. For my daughter's recent wedding, I had to have my dress specially tailored by a Bedouin tentmaker. And if the opportunity arises to escape this Wisconsin winter for a beach vacation, I now fear not only the potential for sunburn, but the very real possibility of harpoon wounds as well.

The problem is that my mouth desires entertainment when my body has absolutely no need of further intake. I have begun entertaining my mouth with sensations that are not high-calorie and fat-laden, with my current favorite being Altoids Cinnamon mints. WOW! I'm not sure if that's entertainment, but it is definitely a sensation and gets my mouth's full attention. Mmmm.... nice cinnamon scent, then a bit of a tingle, then... YOWZA, FIRE DAMMIT!

This reminds me of an article that appeared in Esquire March 2001:
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Recall those innocent days when you thought a Tic Tac in the mouth gave a bang to your life? Or remember even your first Altoid, when you couldn't believe so much peppermint could be harnessed into one small tablet? Good times, good times. Now we've entered a dark era, mintwise. In what seems a bizarre and pointless competition—A Cool War, if you will—mint makers keep upping the dosage. Try a Starbucks After Coffee Mint—a baby-aspirin sized pill—and you're in for a surprisingly painful experience: Your tongue burns as if you just swallowed lye. Your eyes water. Your taste buds are so frazzled, you can't tell a Macallan 25 from a Mad Dog 20/20. Should candy really make us suffer? No. If we're going to test our physical limits as men, shouldn't we do it by climbing the Andes or kayaking in the Atlantic, not by sampling breath fresheners? Yes. And yet, this phenomenon shows no sign of abating. You can buy Titanic Extra Strong Mints. Fresch mints from Germany. Trebor XXX Mints from England. All promise to pummel your mouth with subzero temperatures. We've had enough, thanks. We're going back to Life Savers. —John Godfrey
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What are they going to create next under the misnomer of "candy"? Horseradish hard candy? Wasabi taffy? The good news is my taste buds are getting permanently seared out of existence, and miraculously, eating is losing its appeal.

Wedding Reprise

Saturday my "little girl"—yeah, that 25-year-old that's taller than I am—got married. I left for Austin last Wednesday for the festivities and returned Monday night. Here's the Cliff Note version: I caught a cold beforehand. The wedding was great. I took no pictures. I got my belly button pierced. I consumed so much alcohol between Thursday and Sunday, I will be compelled to go to The Betty to dry out. Chicago O'Hare was...itself. (Although I mouthed all the right "It's your day" words to Carrie and Joshua—it's all about me-me-me when it comes to telling about it in my blog.)

I got a cold Sunday before last. Ergh. I held it off enough that the trip wasn't too miserable (read: better living through chemistry), although it was THERE.... It hasn't gone away, and I am really tired of being host to a mucous factory and the accompanying snorting that entails. However, I was and am hugely grateful that I didn't get ANY of the incredibly virulent stuff that has been going around the office and everywhere else.

Thursday Carrie, Lauren (the Maid of Honor), and I went to the nail place and had spa pedicures and manicures. Total heaven and fun to have Girl Time. Friday the three of us plus Page and Christine (Carrie's lovely and delightful sisters/bridesmaids that I love dearly even though I didn't give birth to them—or maybe they're particularly dear BECAUSE I didn't give birth to them), and I went to the beauty say-lon for up-do's. Fabulous place. They serve wine. Do you really need to know any more?

When I wasn't doing girly stuff, I was having fun with my sister Jo and brother-in-law Mike eating and drinking. And enjoying wearing several fewer layers than required at this time of year in Wisconsin.

Okay, I suppose I must pay some tribute to the event that got us Down South to Decent Weather (balmy 70's) in February: The wedding and reception were simply lovely. Carrie was gorgeous. (Not that I'm biased.) And Joshua looked quite handsome and dashing. Everything went smoothly and without incident. I was utterly thrilled that they had the good taste to have the DJ play "Baby Got Back" during the reception. Easy listening/dancing at its best.

Although I didn't take a single picture (just too freakin' busy drinking and being The Mother of The Bride), the wedding photographer is supposed to post hers to a website at some point. I particularly LOVE this idea after last summer when I had lunch with a few rarely-seen high school friends in Oklahoma, and one of them used the entire time making us look through THREE albums of her son's wedding pictures. It was ghastly! I can see where the delirium of proud motherhood might put one over the edge and out of touch with the feelings of others in such cases, so the wedding photographer website seems like an automatic governor to prevent such behavior and allow me to keep my friends. Or at least to find other and more creative ways of alienating them.

Sunday Joshua's grandparents hosted a brunch for the families of the wedding party. It was very nice, and another welcome eating opportunity even though I was about to founder under my own weight by that time.

Later Carrie and Joshua came over to my hotel for the piercing foray. They unexpectedly brought Jacob, Joshua's 13-year-old cousin, who is utterly adorable. Carrie and I started planning the piercing party shortly after I got my airline tickets and found I'd be staying over Sunday. I'd been wanting to get my belly button pierced (there really is NO logical explanation, so don't ask), and one of my friends had made a pact that we'd do it together in January no matter how fat we were, then get toned up before swimsuit season. But Patti backed out immediately after New Year's. Carrie and Joshua knew a place that was "good", meaning faith in its sterility being greater than that of a McDonald's bathroom. Care held my hand throughout the process, Joshua stood by encouragingly, and Jacob kept teasing me, "Don't scream like a girl!" It was an odd but fun little party and rite of passage.

Coming back, a one-hour layover was scheduled in Chicago, which should have been reduced to about 20 minutes since my incoming flight was a bit delayed. Ha. Ha. Sure... My friend Lori, who connects through O'Hare more often than I go to the grocery store, has probably taken the bus back to Madison more often than her flight has actually made it in, which has taught me to lower my expectations. United was performing maintenance on our aircraft. (Aren't they supposed to do that when people aren't scheduled to get on it?) Still, it could have been much worse. It was a 3:45 flight, and at about 4:15 they called us to board and herded us out onto the tarmac. Then a screaming maintenance woman came at us as though we had tried to storm the gate and told us Madison was not ready to board. Herded us back inside. Turns out the plane flunked a test after maintenance. It wouldn't steer or some other trivial matter, but they failed to communicate that to the INSIDE passenger herders. We did finally leave at 6—so luck is still holding better than the norm.

Now I'm back home. Wisconsin in February. It's colder, but the sun's shining. I'm happy to be home and in my own bed. And more importantly, I'm glad that Carrie is happy with her new husband and how Her Special Day turned out—even though it WAS all about me-me-me.