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Exercising My Right to Chews

I ate fried chicken for lunch yesterday. 

Since I’m Southern to the (chicken) bone, that isn’t all that unusual. What struck me as odd, though, is that the chicken joint I went to – Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken in Birmingham – is directly under an exercise place. So while I was there chowing down on some hot and spicy yardbird with some light bread on the side, above me began this stomping that was somewhat in unison. Then I started hearing excited but muffled yelling over the stomping. Then the stomping got louder. Then the excited but muffled yelling got even more excited. 

Why I could barely hear myself chew!

And I thought, Could there be two more incongruous ways to spend a lunch hour? I know which team I’m on! Pass the napkins!

I’ve spent a lot of years worrying over my thighs, which leads to worry over my A-double-slinky-letters, which leads to worry over my belly, and so on. And I do try to eat a reasonably healthy diet. But the gene pool works against me, age is creeping up on me, and, frankly, even though #audreywalks365, Audrey doesn’t really like to jump around in a gym while someone hollers at her through a little headset mic – especially when there’s fried chicken right downstairs. 

And I just can’t spend my life obsessing over a bulge here and a dimple there. That’s not healthy for me. I’ve learned that I’ve got to be as happy as I can with what the good Lord gave me and do my best to keep my temple from becoming a house of horrors. 

Which is exactly what will happen if you eat our traditional Southern-fried, sugar-coated diet every day – you’ll be worm food faster than you can say, “Scald that bird!” But the Episcopal Church taught me “all things in moderation.” So I do exercise just not in a gym. I walk every single day and I also ride my bike when it’s not 140 degrees outside. Nothing wrong with trying to be healthy and fit at all. But I’ll also have the two-piece dark meat combo, please. 

And if you like the stomping and muffled yelling, you do you! 

But you gotta admit, whoever thought of putting a chicken joint right beneath a fitness club is probably somewhere having a good old laugh while they wipe their greasy fingers off on their Lululemons

A few more quick things:

That’s my Granny on the left and the Queen on the right. Also interesting is that in this picture, my Granny is the same age that I am now. Maybe it’s time for me to get my ‘do done.
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