The Sins of the Flesh

A conversation between two thighs:

"I heard you had Jerry's homemade tortillas for breakfast today!  You know he uses lard, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, everyone knows they're just not the same without lard.  The texture.  The flavor.  I'm made of animal fat.  Lard IS animal fat.  Where's the conflict?  Don't tell me you expected me to go the 'canola oil and whole wheat' route!  Besides, I heard you had a late night snack of red wine, corn chips and salsa, AND dark chocolate.  What kind of combination is THAT?!"

"A better combo than elk sausage, a fried egg, THREE -- yes I know you went there -- tortillas with butter and honey, TWO CUPS of coffee, one of Aunt Marie's pumpkin cookies . . . AND that sinfully lusciously tart lemon bar that Laurie bought!"

"Did you even bother to TASTE the depth of citrus in that bar?  That's vitamin C, baby.  There's vitamin A in the cookies, courtesy of the pumpkin.  And, and, and . . . you would have hated me later if I hadn't eaten Jerry's homemade tortillas.  That offer doesn't come a'knockin' very often.  Be honest.  You know I'm tellin' the truth!"

"We-e-ll, you might be right with that one.  But surely you didn't need the to consume all of those starches at one sitting?  Why not save the baked goods for later?  I mean, must you be such a piggy-wiggy?!  At least I used the knowledge gleaned from countless TV shows and health  magazines -- my splurge was anti-oxidant rich."

"I KNOW you did not just slander my good name.  If you want to nitpick, I'll take you on a little walk down memory lane to visit a few highly memorable binges.  You can conveniently blame it on 'PMS' or 'cravings' during THAT TIME OF THE MONTH but let's just call an excuse an excuse.  Shall we?"

"Why are you being mean to me?  I only brought up the tortillas for your own good.  You know how you get when you overeat.  We'll all pay for it later.  No one more than you.  I'm simply reminding you to take it easy.  Why must I always be the voice of reason?!"

"Why?  You wonder WHY?  I'd say it's the wine, you imbibing imbecile.  Reason, my hind end, er, OUR hind end!  You're perhaps better read and better with words but we're the same, dearie, two sides of the same lower torso.  What's mine is yours and vice-versa.  If . . . "

"Don't you . . . "

"This is . . . "

"Hey!  Down there.  You two thunder thighs!  Get a grip and stop crying, for the the love of all that's sweet and creamy!  I want you to shut up and pay attention.  Own what you ate.  Quit your bickering and help me . . . sque-e-e-ze . . . into . . . these jeans.  And I'm telling you RIGHT now that if this zipper doesn't go all the way up, you'll be squatting and lunging until you're speechless!  And you'll forget you ever consumed a single solitary morsel of chevre cheese, pasta al dente, or well-seasoned New Zealand lamb chop!"