Honey, I Shrunk the Stomach

~ snakesinthegrass2014
Source: ImageFX by Google

Back when I was in my early twenties, friends of mine would play a drinking game of sorts where we would self-expose how we were more like our parents than any of us cared to admit. It was a half-cocked hybrid version of “Never Have I Ever” and “Truth or Dare,” focusing on the more embarrassing aspects of one’s behavioral DNA. For instance, my closest friend at the time, Billy, bemoaned how as a child he would cringe at his father’s tendency to ask highly personal and nosy questions of complete strangers; Billy complained that he now found himself doing the exact same thing with people he encountered on crowded subway cars. Another friend during that period, Ella, observed that she was already quizzing wait staff at restaurants about how fresh certain menu items were, exactly as her mother had done for years.

How the actual drinking part of our game came into play is lost to time. I suspect it was merely a transitory device before the next person offered up his or her confession. There wasn’t much much justification required back then to have a pint.

I still recall my own testimony, as it were. It was about being too much like my mother and her tendency to be an exaggerated storyteller. I’d describe her as a raconteur, but that would mean she understood that there was a beginning, middle, and end to a tale. Unfortunately with my mother, there was only ever a middle. Each of her stories were told with such epic detail that she ended up tormenting her audience. I can still visualize aunts, uncles, neighbors even, who never failed to nervously glance about a room looking for an exit opportunity. Mom was a social worker by profession, which meant that by virtue of her training she was supposed to be a good listener. She should have instead probably been a hairdresser. To this day, I’m constantly catching myself in the middle of any potentially long-winded yarn to put a bow on it already.

If I had only known that I was actually focusing on the wrong parent when it came to being worried about my inherited genes.

I’m thinking about all of this at the moment because of constant flashback film reels that are streaming virtually in my head. They have been on auto-replay, displaying isolated moments from early post-adolescent years. Specifically, my dad’s late-middle-age complaints about how he was always feeling so full.

“I can’t eat like this anymore!,” he moaned one particular Sunday evening after one of my mother’s famed Roman banquets. As usual, it had been a jam-packed affair with roast brisket, vegetables, mashed potatoes, Parker House rolls, and her homemade apple pie for dessert. The tone and tenor of Dad’s wailing was no doubt brought on by his own self-awareness of impending biological changes. This in turn resulted in him lobbing unfounded recriminations at my mother, accusing her of a diabolical desire to keep feeding him as if he was still a 30 year old young buck.

I remember him later making me walk around the block with him three, four, five times in a row until he felt that his stomach was somewhat settled. I had places I wanted to go, and people I wanted to see. But he was walking slow and keeping me firmly close by, all the while offering up a verbal litany of his intestinal complaints. “You’ll understand this yourself someday, mark my words!”

Source: ImageFX by Google

A half century or so later, the apple pie certainly hasn’t fallen far from the tree.

Just like Dad, I’ve now reached that stage where if I’m not careful I’ll be uncomfortably full for hours. Those days of going out for breakfast and cavalierly ordering steak and eggs are over because I will be uncomfortable for hours afterwards. A double hamburger with a side order of fries? Fuhgetaboutit. Dessert? DESSERT?! Are you kidding me???! Okay, sure, I can have dessert, maybe, but only if I have a salad or small filet of fish as my meal. Otherwise, no, we ain’t eating much in the way of dessert lately unless it’s the main course.

“I’ll have the pot roast and tiramisu dessert special, please. Hold the pot roast.”

Speaking of steak and eggs, may we digress for a moment? Now that I’m sitting in the catbird seat of nutritional judgment, I can’t think of a worse example of American epicurean gluttony than this particular entree. For years I would order it whenever we went out for breakfast because, like mimosas and bloody marys, no one ever really eats like this at home. I’m asking the six of you out there to be honest with me on this one. A steak and eggs special always comes with a side of hash browns, some toast, and sometimes even a stack of pancakes. Gorgeous would never fail to nervously look away from me and focus only on her bowl of yogurt with fresh strawberries. “Nothing to see here, just keep looking down until he’s finished.” She’s played the long game and got the last laugh from all of this: I’m now a two eggs-and-toast-only kind of guy.

But just like Dad, it’s dinner that is the most challenging meal for me. My eyes and hands are still wanting two servings of pasta. That’s what I’ve eaten for donkey’s years and it’s a hard habit to break. My brain, however, is now reminding me that one small helping one will suffice because in 20 minutes my stomach will be slowing at full capacity. I’ve learned the hard way that if I overeat, a night’s sleep will be an extremely uncomfortable adventure.

I’ve also discovered in the last several months that evening snacking is now a thing of the past. Popcorn, chips, ice cream? Again, fuhgetaboutit. If I’m lucky I can have one stinkin’ cookie. The days of stuffing my face on the couch while binge watching “Line of Duty” are over.

I know what you’re thinking, dear reader. You’re saying, “Good for you! You’re eating healthier now; smaller portions are better!” And you’re right, of course. But who asked ya?

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a carrot stick with my name on it. Can’t ruin dinner.

Until next time…

Source: ImageFX by Google

31 thoughts on “Honey, I Shrunk the Stomach”

  1. I want to hurry and comment before the other five get here. 🙂 Same thing here. My husband and I laugh out loud about how we are eating about half what we use to. I fix a chicken breast and we split it. I brush and floss after dinner and haven’t eaten an evening snack in so may years I can’t even remember. I went out for breakfast with a friend last week and had two pieces of french toast and a glass of water. I’ve never been a steak and eggs person but more of a bacon and eggs person with some potatoes and toast. No more unless I’m going to skip the next meal. They love us at a restaurant because sometimes we split a meal, and it’s not for the money but the size of the serving. 🙂

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    1. It’s good to know I’m not alone, Judy! We’re planning a trip to DC for the fall to see old friends there, and I’m actually stressing about the dinners with each of them. We also tend to eat on the early side now — mostly to make sure the food has time to digest! But on this trip, I’m sure we’ll be eating at a “cosmopolitan-like” later hour. So I suspect we’ll be sharing entrees and making enemies of those waiters. 😆

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  2. The Roman banquets! The meat and 3 or 4 advertised locally! Began to think of Waffle House grand slams. Loved this post! I’m not beyond dessert first and only and we’ve been leaning toward 2 meals a day, trying to close the kitchen by 5pm so our sleep is happier. Sent this off to my husband. I always hear, “growing up on the farm,” one of 7 kids, “you never left a crumb” Says he eats fast so he’d hopefully get extras. Me, the slow eater gets me out of dishes every meal! 😉

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    1. Don’t get me started on Waffle House, CJ! I’m pretty sure it’s codified a state statute here that there has to be one at every highway exit. I go nuts for their scattered hash browns. Or at least I did. 😫 You’re absolutely right about slow eating, though. Good for digesting and even better to avoid them post-dinner chores!

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  3. We’ve gone from a chicken breast each to sharing one. Or a steak or a porkchop. We can’t figure out where we put all that food. I still love breakfast out but 1 egg is enough. I love the potatoes though. Our favorite diner used to have a senior special with one egg, 2 pcs bacon, a small serving of home fries and 1 slice of toast. Even that was a lot. Good luck on your trip. Hopefully you’ll stay at a place where you can take food home to a minifridge with a microwave but what’s the fun of a vacation if you do that?

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    1. Ah, the one egg order. Gorgeous gets embarrased doing that, and yet in the times she’s done so we’ve noticed they still put two on the plate (habit perhaps?). I know, I hear you, what fun is bringing back a doggie bag to a hotel room?!

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    1. We haven’t yet started the sharing, but I feel it definitely will soon. Gorgeous NEVER eats her doggie bag leftovers (that always falls to me). So it does admittedly reach a point of diminishing returns, both from the wallet and stomach!

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  6. Well that was laugh out loud funny, in particular the part about your mother (may she rest in peace) and her storytelling. I have a brother like that. It’s painful. Almost as painful as is the inability to stuff my face with second and third helpings anymore, though I will eat a second Trader Joe’s chocolate dipped vanilla mini cone in one sitting. Just to be clear, if they made a larger version I’d still probably eat two. And sleep like a damn baby afterwards. Sorry about this unwelcome change in your metabolism. I’m assuming you haven’t given up on a second martini though. That would be really sad…

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    1. Forget portion control, it’s bodily function control, Sue! I already know there are deep repercussions if I scarf too much down my pie hole. 😩 Ah yes, the extroverted family member conundrum: do you smile and suffer through, or do you bail and risk hurting feelings? Never easy. Sadly, I’m down to one martini only now. Two and I’m down for the count!

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  8. I don’t have the appetite I once did, now eating what used to be referred to has ‘delicate’ portions. I hang my head in shame about becoming that kind of old woman, but here we are. I never liked steak and eggs, barely liked steak so it’s not difficult to pass on that kind of breakfast.

    On a different note I’m laughing out loud at: “… there was only ever a middle. Each of her stories were told with such epic detail that she ended up tormenting her audience.”  I had an aunt who was known for this and love her as I might she drove me crazy with her stories.

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    1. Truth be told, Ally, I don’t think I actually liked the steak and eggs special. I suppose I always tried it as a bit of a dare to myself. It’s conspicuous consumption at its worst, I think. Yes, “delicate” portions is an apt descriptor for me too now. 😞

      Ah, the curse of the extrovert. There’s at least one in every family!

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  11. I’m now understanding why so many people like the early bird specials – the portion sizes are smaller. I’ve also at times ordered an appetizer for my main meal. And it’s very common for me to take home food; luckily I like leftovers.

    We did a food festival this spring and I got sick from eating too much! I used to love food festivals!! Guess they are going to same way as amusement park rides…my body cannot tolerate them any more either.

    Only issue – You would think that eating less, I’d lose weight….nope.

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    1. Pat, I laughed with my wife this morning over making oatmeal. I used to eat the measurements for two servings, full stop. Then over the last year I switched to 1 1/2 servings and didn’t really think about it. Now I’m eating the serving for one person, and I’m absolutely full afterwards. So that’s now my measure. Ugh.

      OMG, food festivals. I will go, but I’ll have to choose one thing only! Re: weight. I have the opposite problem unfortunately. I’m too skinny. 😫

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  12. I recognise my brother in your description of your mother’s storytelling abilities. His wife has been known to rescue his listeners when he’s at his absolute worst 😉

    I remember those breakfasts from being 21 and travelling around the US. We would live on those breakfasts all day, only needing to top up in the evening with a visit to a salad bar. It’s a constant struggle to get Himself to understand about portion sizes and the fact that I’m a foot shorter than he is! That’s why I now eat my main meal at midday.

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    1. We were both reading each other’s posts at the same time. I love when that happens! Ah yes, those parental genes are not something we have much control over. Grateful for the effort of embarrased spouses! 🙂

      Yes, I’m s-l-o-w-l-y learning that my “main” meal forever more will most likely be lunch. I don’t mind that, I guess, but it’s still something I’m struggling to wrap my head around.

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  13. Hi Marty, Good points on how we are more like our parents than we would like to admit at times (“inherited genes”) Your phrase “the apple pie certainly hasn’t fallen far from the tree” made me smile – witty Marty, at his best. Coincidentally, we had friends over for dinner this week, and eating significantly less became a topic of conversation. My husband and I now have many days of leftovers…was this our plan all along? Always nice to read your thoughts and musings, Marty! A healthy lifestyle means we will hopefully continue to connect for a long time. Happy solstice weekend to you and Gorgeous. Erica

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    1. Leftovers are indeed a diabolical scheme, Erica. I’m not even a quarter of the way through my dinner and already have tomorrow’s lunch in my sights! I had a great grandfather who curiously would not allow my great grandmother to serve him anything but freshly made meals. I can’t imagine how she cooked. The corollary to that is I can’t imagine his audacity. I agree with your main point, though: let’s stay healthy to continue to connect. Be well!

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