The Same Old Story: Food And Ice Cream Can Destroy A Week-End

Day after day, week after week, it's the same old story in Destin, Florida; the poor man's Ft. Myers. Lizzie and I crawl out of bed when we want, drink coffee til' we're full and walk til' we stop. This has been a very unusual winter for the western end of the Florida Panhandle. The temperature sunk to 46 when we arrived on the 14th of January but since then it's all sunshine and 70's. It's the way God meant it to be.
I've hooked up with a fella from my old golf club back in Ohio. He was an unknown to me then but we get out once in awhile to 'swing the sticks'. I find him an interesting codger. He and his wife have traveled the world. This summer they'll be going to east Africa on a pictorial safari. They eat at a different restaurant every night of the week and sometimes you can throw in a lunch to boot. What I find intersting is, when we golf and finish our round, while we're standing next to the 18th green, this man has to quickly prepare to leave the course by cleaning his clubs and putting head covers on them rather than having to pay the bag boys $2 to do it for him. Quirky? Glad I'm perfect!
Behind our condo is a smallish lake separating us from the Gulf. A wooden bridge runs across it. Lizzie told me a story about doing her daily walk and running into a fella who was fishing off the bridge. He started the conversation with: "Hi, bet ya' can't guess how old I am"? Now, had it been me I would have said, "Oh, 101". Lizzie, knowing he was in his late eighties told him he was probably in his early seventies. After that bit of conversation had ended he regaled her in the wonderful restaurant up the street called, 'The Golden Corral'. But, he said, you have to get there at 4:30 for the special. Yes, it's true. I never realized how many of the elderly type go to the 'The Early Bird Special'. The reason I know I am not yet old is because I don't go to the specials. It'd be a waste of time and food. By the time I'd have finished eating my mid-afternoon, night-time dinner I'd be thinking about what I was going to eat before I went to bed. We went out with our friends couple Saturday. I ordered Mahi-mahi with a baked potato and a salad along with four small pieces of bread dripping in olive oil. Our food arrive at 6pm. Along about 9 pm I went into a coma. You see, there's a chain ice cream store in Destin called Breuster's. They sell the tastiest ice cream ever. It makes Ben and Jerry's look and taste like doggie doo.
After flirting with the cute 30 year-old Filipino owner for a few minutes I decided on the chocolate swirl, coconut, almond chunk, calorie laden manna from heaven, a $10.95 quart of bliss. Did I write I 'went into a coma' at 9pm? Well, I came out of the coma at 10pm and the quart of rich, tasty cream was gone. Someone had stolen it. I awakened the next day hungover big time. Why I do this is beyond my capacity to think but it was fun at the time.
Yesterday, my post-ice cream day, I stayed in bed or on the couch in front of the television. If you've ever had a hangover, big time, you know of what I speak.
No moral to this post. I'm on the road to recovery, 'one day at a time'.