Now they’re going to tell me to give up cookies.

I’ll cut back under scientific pressure but I won’t be happy about it. I whistled through an echocardiogram this week, then got zinged for A1C.

Why do I have to be apologetic for my lifelong love of potatoes and pasta? How could a wholesome-looking oatmeal raisin cookie — or two — be a shady character? The list of taboos seems pretty extensive.

I haven’t pleaded bum knees when facing lack of exercise charges. I haven’t eaten a fast-food cheeseburger in years, despite my affection for Blake’s Lotaburger. I don’t like drive-through fries. I can’t remember the last time I treated myself to a root beer, let alone a Brown Cow. I’ve learned how to BAKE apple cider doughnuts at home.

LOTA Burger® “New Mexico Style”

I only use potatoes for breakfast burritos and green chile stew. I admit I might have screwed up during the last A1C testing period by consuming more tortillas while cutting back on bread. Those giant while flour ones are great for my large-diameter breakfast bombs. But where does it end?

I would rather wait for one of those snappy New York Times health stories that challenge conventional wisdom. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t gotten a break since the medical world lightened up on coffee and eggs.

I am not asking to reverse the indictment of cigarettes. I’m not talking about indulging in alcohol after 37 years of aridification. I just got my second Covid booster shot and I wore a mask during my stops today at the Wild Birdhouse and Presbyterian cardiology. I drove right past a beckoning Blake’s after fasting for the damn blood sugar test.

Cookies are about all I ask, although I’ve come to more fully appreciate daytime relaxation in my early 70s. I am RETIRED. I believe in the “keep moving” school of thought but it’s also true that days off from walking, afternoon naps and ibuprofen — another no-no from the sensible health and medical faction — make my joints feel better, too.

Meanwhile, I’m afraid my mission for the rest of the week is to convert my 30-year-old mountain bike, which has been gathering dust in all the wrong places, to an indoor exercise machine.

— 30 —

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