You gonna eat that?

 “Do you want that last slice of pizza,” is as much an aspiration as it is a question.

For a moment, there was silence.

“Is that what that was? I thought it was a circle of cardboard encrusted in plastic and grass clippings.”

People for Less Unrest in Marriage — an entirely imaginary organization for which I am an occasional spokesperson — has united, at least temporarily, with Parental Yawn, a grassroots offshoot partner that is expected to remain almost entirely silent as they "wipe that smirk off their faces."

“More for me.”

"PLUMPY," as the conglomerate will be known for the duration of the upcoming Spring Break and subsequent travel itinerary, will be charged with enacting some semblance of peace between potentially warring parties as we navigate a maze of painfully ordinary decisions such as, but not limited to: "What would you like to do today? Shall we go for a hike? Which restaurant should we go to tonght?"

I don't even want to think about the referring that will be necessitated by a ten-hour drive. 

They may have outgrown the Are-We-There-Yets, but a heavy sigh with the roll of an eye can easily bring tempers to a boil. 

Communication breakdowns are like the fly in this SPF ointment.

One wrong look will set everyone's hair on fire. Poof.

But that's par for this course.

As you may have been able to glean from our acronym, PLUMPY, like all unendorsed think-tank-style rogue agencies that got their beginnings in March of 2020, has grown by leaps and bounds since its initial inception and .... almost entirely fueled by individually-wrapped devil's food snack cakes and vanilla ice cream swirled with caramel and chocolate chunks ... may have also gained a little heft.

Muscle weighs more than fat … or so I'm told. Ah-hem.

Not that anyone in these parts is body shaming anyone for their parts. The first rule of PLUMPY is to never identify any members. Ever.

Sometimes it's better not to say anything at all. A few well-placed “Sounds like a plan.” Or “I'll be fine doing … whatever,” can go a long way toward it actually being true.

I'm just trying to stop eating my feelings ... especially the ones inflamed by the central aisles of the grocery store; where the junk food lives. Why can't I eat just one chocolate-button-covered brownie with its thick layer of frosting as lush as the widest wale corduroy? What is it about these cut-rate confections that makes me eat half a box?

Honestly, how many fewer calories are in that "deluxe" pizza with its shell made out of riced cauliflower and a blanket of meats and cheeses? Is it even possible to find healthy choices at corner stores and gas stations?

Salad can be just as tasty, can it not? Ribbon-sliced vegetables blended into a trio of curly-edged lettuces.

E Ghad, I hope so. 

I won't survive this trip without some serious deep breathing exercises, a limit on sugar, and a moment of silence.