Real food for real men

A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

And right now, after months of light-weight food with no taste - and even less heft - I've got a heavy hankerin' for a triple-meatball, pepperoni sausage, six-cheese submarine sandwich, oozing over a warm, doughy foot long toasted Mozzarella Parmesan Italian roll, followed by a family-size order of cottage fries (sans family) smothered in chili cheese sauce. The chaser for this gloriously caloric feast will be a chocolate chunk, hyper-sized, milk shake stuffed with peanut butter blobs and overflowing with rich syrup.

I'm a-fixin' to eat me something solid - and once I've got it in my mind, my diet is history.

I suck in my gut, march boldly into the sandwich shop, and swagger to the counter. Feet resolutely planted, I stand my ground in an oh-so-macho fashion and make direct eye contact with the young woman behind the register. Actually, I don't know if young women consider middle-aged, slightly soft, bespectacled, grey-haired men to be manly, but red meat, elevated-cholesterol, saturated-fat meals seem to me a masculine food; I must place myself in the right frame of mind prior to ordering.

She asks, "What would you like?" (I am amazed she is not swooning from the animal magnetism I exude.)

"Forget the calories, Scott; go for it!" I hear in my head.

Clearing my throat, I deepen my voice, and - for causes unbeknownst to me - reply in a crackling, tinny, scratchy sound, "Veggie sandwich. Diet soda."

Sean Connery had entered the restaurant; Woody Allen had ordered.

In my mind, I'm pounding my forehead with the heel of my hand, screaming, "What in Heaven's name are you doing? You passing up the mother lode of meats for sprouts and cucumbers again! Have you no pride?"

Over my internal din, I hear her ask, "Anything else?"

Ah-ha, an opportunity to redeem myself! Go for it Scott! Take the plunge; live on the edge! There's still time.

"No mayo please - and light on the cheese."

Arggh! It's as if I'm channeling elderly English ladies at high tea. Next thing you know, I'm going to tastefully chew ladyfingers while eating with my pinky in the air.

I see myself a ferocious carnivorous lion, chasing prey across the African savannah; yet, what repeatedly materializes is my inner bunny, nibbling carrot tops at the petting zoo.

Other people eat red meat without stress. What's wrong with Me?

The blood pounds loudly in my temples. "Wait!" I blurt out, "I want to change my order."

"Yes?" She looks up, knife poised to cut the bread.

"Give me extra spicy mustard. I can handle it."

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus, THINspirational Speaker, lost 70 pounds in 1994 and is a professional speaker. He can be reached by calling 707.442.6243, emailing scottq@scottqmarcus.com - or by visiting his other blog at scottq.typepad.com