Douglas is in the Blue Zone, and I’m in the Trash Zone

My husband has become nearly obsessed with “Blue Zone” living, after seeing so much written about it while in Spain. He has taken to eating healthy like a duck takes to water. I must give him credit for his ability to stick with a new method of eating, and he has lost about 15 pounds. He is slimming down, and I am getting afraid to let him go to the Senior Center alone, with his new buff self.

To his acute sorrow, he is living with someone who seems more comfortable in the Trash Zone than in the Blue Zone. I admire him, and, let’s be honest, I want to live a long time, but changing 67 years of eating habits is sometimes difficult to do.

If you had seen us this past weekend at our own daughters’ homes, you would know that we come from two very different eating point of views. His daughter is vegan, everything crunches when you eat,  and the portions are so small that I feel as though I have not eaten at all. The whole family is slim and fit, though.

In contrast, at my youngest daughter’s house, we ate fried fish and lots of it. She cooks tons of fried whiting and catfish when she knows that I am visiting, along with homemade slaw full of mayonnaise and sugar. She also cooks big pots of collard greens with large chucks of ham, baked chicken smothered in gravy, something called dirty rice, which is rice and sausages, and macaroni and cheese that is to die for (no pun intended). Admittedly, the house groans a little with my heavy children and grandchildren. I am the slimmest person there, and I need to lose about ten percent of my body weight..

To Douglas’s chagrin, he has been unsuccessful in convincing her to throw away her skillets and embrace grilled foods. But,  in my aunts’ houses, every Friday night dinner was fried fish and pork and beans. This is how I fed my children, and nearly all of my aunts who did not drink alcohol like water lived to be at least 88. So, I should be good for another 21 years at least, even if I remain out of the Blue Zone.

Last night, I asked him to go to Wendy’s and pick up dinner. I requested a double burger and a small chili, and he got himself a salad. I exulted in the wonderful messiness of my dinner, exasperated at my husband’s frigid reaction to my behavior. He was gallant and did not say a word, but I think he is wondering what his next wife will look like when this one keels over one day after a fast food feast.

Since we have been married, I have come to enjoy stir-fried vegetables, salads, and other healthy foods, especially yogurt and blueberries or strawberries for breakfast and baked sweet potatoes for lunch, embracing many of the so-called superfoods. But, let me see sweet potato fries on the menu, and they cannot get to the table fast enough!

I am trying to live longer, exercising at least 100 minutes a day. But, when your husband, who was a steak eater, starts a campaign of healthiness, it’s like being a smoker and living with an ex-smoker who all of a sudden is an expert on second-hand smoke.It grates on your nerves something awful.

You have to keep reminding yourself everyday that you do really love him. Looking at his progress and his more energetic self, I will jump on the Blue Zone wagon soon, if he don’t jump back in the Trash Zone first!

Fandango prompt is Credit. Ragtag prompt is Exult. Word of the Day Challenge is Chagrin. Scott’s Daily Prompt is Acute. Your Daily Prompt is Frigid.