I was shot with a 44 this morning — and I liked it.

Oh, dear.  Spell checker does not catch errors in intent.  There is a bit of a problem with the title of this posting that gives the spell-checker no problem at all.  Let me explain.

My weight loss program seemed to have reached a plateau.  It had slowed to about three pounds per ten days, and appeared to be continuing to slow.  Having lost that “third” pound by yesterday morning, I decided to splurge a bit last evening with popcorn, of which I ingested not a little.  But no butter.  Never the butter, just a small amount of healthy oil in the microwave popper, and more salt than the doctor would approve of.  And things to drink the doctor would frown upon, also.

Given this demonstration of Dionysian depraved debauchery, I fully expected the digital display this morning to show a greater number than on the previous day.  Much to my surprise and elation, it had gone the other way!

So, title, aside, I was shocked by the number 44—I was 44 pounds down for the year.  And that, my friends, is why I liked it (and there was no blood to clean up).  I’m certain a .44 magnum would be considerably more painful and likely more lethal than the time I stabbed myself in the side with my samurai sword—but that’s another story for another time.


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