It happened while I was waiting for Mr. Wu to take care of some carry-out orders.
I watched him as he sprinted back and forth from the cash register to the kitchen like the human cannonball in a pinball machine.
And then, as he turned away from me to take the order of a young couple, my gaze happened to fall upon his slender backside.
My heart plummeted into my empty stomach. Doubt. Stage right. Cue the first ominous measures of JAWS. My mind adroitly raced around all the bases of worry and slid into the dusty home plate of despair.
I frowned and asked myself, “What if Mr. Wu is one of the lucky few who can eat and eat and never gain an ounce?”
What pink fluffy cloud of euphoric hope had allowed me the opiate delusion that I could eat like this metabolic marvel and not gain weight?
With a Perry Mason sneer, I continued my own cross examination, “Tell me– if you can remember– can you recall if your own backside has ever been that size?”
Now, I was no longer talking to myself, but instead addressing a rapt and somber jury sitting where my self esteem used to be. The closing argument was coming to its resounding and predictable climax, “No, you can’t remember, can you, in fact, you would have to ask your mother, wouldn’t you, since she and the doctor who delivered you are the only two humans who have ever seen your fanny when it was that small.”
Ah. And then, just as all seems lost, the music swells, the double doors swing dramatically open and like the lone lost witness to the truth…
Reason enters. Stage left.
The Wu Food Project is about changing my habits so that I can be a healthy person.
It is not about how far I hit the golf ball, but how much can I improve my swing–and if my swing is good and true, then the rest will follow. And for now, my goal is a reasonable and sensible goal of changing my habits and losing five pounds.
The Wu Project is about looking ahead –not re-creating Mr. Wu’s rear view.
Doubt exits. Stage… no, wait. I am in the writer’s seat.
Doubt ignominiously falls into the orchestra pit between the violins and the violas. (No musicians were harmed in the writing of this blog.)
As the curtains fall, reason gets the girl.