Happily Ever After It’s a Crock

by Valerie Nusbaum Summer is right around the corner, and that means that, soon, we’ll all be wanting to wear cooler, lighter, skimpier clothes, and (dare I say it?) bathing suits. Years ago, when I was a younger lady, I and all my friends would have spent the entire month of April trying to get our bodies in shape so that our bikinis would cover what needed to be covered and showcase the rest.  That was then. Nowadays, we’re encouraged not to put emphasis on being thin or toned, and we’re told that we should appreciate all body types.  A healthy body image is a good thing. I’m not knocking that at all. Women are more than a set of measurements, and we should be allowed to be comfortable in our own skins no matter how stretched out or wrinkly those skins might be. (I’m talking about myself here, OK? Don’t go writing any angry emails to The Banner.) With all that being said, I honestly don’t feel my best, health-wise, when I’m carrying a few extra pounds. My energy level is lower, and I don’t feel comfortable if my jeans are tight. I’m not worried about fitting into a swimsuit, though. It’s been years and years since I even bothered to buy one of those. I would buy one if I spent a lot of time at the beach or the pool, but when I go to Ocean City, it’s not for swimming. I walk along the beach, but I don’t do a lot of sitting out in the sun. Anyway, I’ve gotten way off topic here, as I’m trying to explain how this conversation got started. I mentioned to Randy that I planned to write about getting in shape for wearing more revealing summer clothing, and that I might suggest some dos and don’ts, but I was worried that I might come off sounding as though I were fat-shaming others. We women need to support each other and not be judgmental. Randy very seriously looked at me and said, “In this day and age, you have to be so careful what you say about anything. I’m even afraid to use the term “slow cooker.” At first, I thought he was joking, but he was serious. I asked what he meant, and he said the word “slow” can be a slur and he wouldn’t want anyone to be offended by it. I told him that if he felt concern, he should refer to the slow cooker as a “crock pot.” “Well, that’s a whole other can of worms because “crock” can be an insult, and “pot” means a lot of other things.” This conversation was getting sillier by the second, so I asked Randy, “When, exactly, would you ever be talking about a slow cooker in a conversation anyway?” I had visions of him exchanging recipes with his friends, Wayne, Frank, and Bill. “I like looking through that Taste of Home magazine your mom saves for us. I like to search for the hidden object each month, and sometimes I come across a recipe that looks good. A lot of them are made in a slow cooker,” was his reply. I asked him if he wanted to try cooking something in one of our crock pots, and he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. In an effort to change the subject, Randy said, “This whole thing about summer clothes and summer bodies is not the issue at all, and you know it. It’s the shoes that drive you crazy.” What can I say? He’s correct.  I hate to see warm weather get here because people start wearing sandals and flip flops. While some folks have foot fetishes, I have an aversion to feet, particularly toes.  It runs in my family. We think feet are gross—all feet—even our own.  My cousin, Lou, says that some feet look capable of snatching dinner out of the pond. Randy doesn’t like feet, either. Some feet are like a train wreck: bunions, corns, callouses, and nail fungus, not to mention hammer toes and all those other gnarly toe ailments. No matter how badly I want to look away, I can’t seem to do it. But that’s my problem, not yours. Feet are just plain nasty. I need to change the subject now before I gag. I’ve thought it over and my advice for getting in shape for summer is this: Take care of yourself and be as healthy as you can be.  Find clothes that make you happy and put them on. Go places and do fun things. Be comfortable and make your own style. You should wear any shoes you like, as long as they’re not dangerous. Just, please, don’t see me out in public and shove your feet in my line of sight. I’m sure they’re very nice, but I don’t need to see them. And give yourself a pedicure once in a while. I’ll be praying that colder weather (and boots) comes soon.