Trash Pickin'

A fat man I once knew told me a story.  His wife forbid him from eating the fat and gristle from the steaks they ate all too often.  On steak nights he'd throw a piece of foil into the trash.  Then he'd clean off the table and cast all those scraps onto the conveniently top-foiled garbage.  He'd give the appearance of smushing down the garbage and clandestinely wrap the beefy bits in the heavy duty foil.  He'd take the garbage out and I'm sure you've figured out the rest - he'd stand outside in the dark and wolf down the greasy "garbage" out of sight from his wife's watchful eyes.  He told the story to me and another gentleman of size expecting empathy.  He got none.

All I asked him was, "Was it worth it?"

Whenever I'm having trouble with my diet or don't feel like going to the gym, I think of the garbage picker.  If I decide to binge eat; if I decide to laze about on the couch; if I decide that I just can't do it anymore, I ask myself that simple question - if I choose gluttony; if I choose sloth; if I choose acedia, is it worth it?