I was eating lunch with my bosom buddy the other day and she raised her eyebrows when I ordered dessert.  “A nice apple crisp topped with vanilla ice cream, please.”

Although our luncheon date was to celebrate her birthday, she decided not to have dessert.

Take note, if you will, that I refer to my friend as my bosom buddy. She is a senior citizen with large breasts that used to be perky but have taken on softness more becoming to grandmothers and other matrons.

Although my friend and I seek senior discounts, we hate words like bosoms, matrons, seniors and elderly, and cringe when we are addressed as “sweetie” or “dearie.” We have tried everything out there in our attempt to stall the aging process. All for naught!

We went to water aerobics, regular aerobics, circuit training, weight lifting, step classes, CURVES, and yoga groups. We purchased stair steppers, treadmills and danced to the Oldies with Richard and worked out with Jane on the TV.

I think we have enough personal fitness equipment in our garages to start our own gym. While we were working on our hamstrings, quads and abs the lubrication in our joints was running out and abs are now called tummies and buns are butts. My triceps flap like wings and our waists are girths.

We also tried dietary tricks and programs to fight the inevitable. Weight Watchers, TOPPS, Dr. Atkins, South Beach, cabbage soups, Slim Fasts. You name it, we’ve done it.

Now we are queen-sized, which when you consider the connotation is not all that bad. A true blue blood like that lady who said, “Let them eat cake.” Well, I say junior sizes are for teenagers and skinny old women with crepe paper necks. I too can wear a size one, 1X that is.

What is the point of surviving into the golden years if you have to eat like a bird? I have finally reached that nirvana called the maintenance diet. I eat whatever I want and my weight is stable, (that’s called overweight). The taste buds are going fast and I hear the one that lasts the longest is the sweet one so when I enjoy a hot fudge sundae I am celebrating the parts of me that haven’t died yet.

Eating out is the number one recreation of the elderly. The rallying cry is “Let’s meet for lunch!”  Gatherings around potlucks, holiday dinners, fairs, bazaars and Farmer’s Markets fill in the appointment books of the retired group. 

Yep, it’s good to get older. No dates with the scale or New Year’s resolutions. My Lenten sacrifices are not food-based this year. The chocolates in the velvet valentine box are gone and peeps and Cadbury eggs are lining up for Easter.

So today, I request two spoons for the apple crisp and I say to my friend, “Hey relax and enjoy the rest of the trip. We lost our baby fat and like the three little kittens that lost their mittens, we found what we lost and now we too shall have some pie.

Maybe freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.

(Carol Holoboff is a former Libby resident who now writes her column from Great Falls).