This is the lid to my cottage cheese. Not Gary’s cottage cheese – mine.
His? Plenty of salt. Like ridiculous amounts of salt. 480 mg to be exact (in resistant hypertension language that is like putting a gun in your mouth with every spoon). Who knew?!
Since I barely survived the holiday season and this ridiculous BP roller coaster has started its miserable incline again, I have decided to eat as clean as possible. Salt-free is nearly impossible out, so during the week I eat home and try to be really good. I have to say, I truly appreciated the camaraderie that Friendship fostered with the lid of this cottage cheese. It’s like some brand manager out there totally gets what a drag a no salt diet is like and wanted to make me smile.
So I bought it. Truth be told, cottage cheese really does need the sodium to taste good. But let’s face it, it’s cottage cheese. It’s really all about the texture. And I appreciate the brand sympathy.
Nice work Friendship, you have made a friend in me.
My nana used to say this all the time. As would be fitting for a young person I used to smile sweetly in response and go about my business without giving it much thought. I mean, older people said stuff like this all the time, right?
In the last almost 3 months I have thought about this often and I am pretty sure Nana is waving that perfectly manicured finger at me from wherever she is. I can just about hear her signature, ‘Now, Amy Dear… I TOLD you!”, echoing in my head. (For a while I was convinced she thought Dear was my middle name).
For those who were regular readers, you have noticed – and complained I might add, in an endearing way – about my sparse postings. I am working on getting back here, but it seems I am a rolling series of calamities waiting to happen.
Not wanting to bore you with the blow by blow details, let’s just say I have run the gamut. I have decided that rather than bitch about it I will try to point out the humor in what I hope is the tail end of this run.
- After 2 rounds of sinus infections and countless antibiotics, I finally felt as if I could breathe clearly again and all was good with the world. That is when while making the bed, the dog decided to ‘help’ and popped me so hard in the nose I almost passed out. As I ran to the bathroom, bleeding profusely, it occurred to me I had never known what is was like to take a hit to the face. It sucks, btw. And breathing… not going to lie, it’s not so great.
- If you remember, I had a little ‘mishap’ with my blood pressure and they changed my meds. All was good with the world till…. I looked down to find my Aunt Bessie’s ankle on the end of my right foot. Yeh, that’s right, I was pretty much in the market for support hose and a hairnet. (BTW, I am unsure whether I had an Aunt Bessie or if she had swollen ankles but it makes the story better so go with it). I called the doc, he changed my meds, the ankle started to go down, I tossed the hairnet and all was good with the world. Until…
- I slipped on some towels and fell down the stairs carrying 2 laundry baskets and sprained the same friggin’ ankle! Yeh, that’s right, the one I was supposed to watch for swelling to make sure the new meds were working right! I was, however, wearing shorts and sneakers getting ready to go on the elliptical, so I am deeming this a sports injury. (Please give me this one)
The moral of this story? Jewish girls should not do laundry? Dogs should not make the bed? Nope.
The moral of this story is that Nana was right!
So if you happen to see me gimping down the street, be kind. Offer me a little bubble plastic. Or maybe a helmet. And remember:
As long as you’ve got your health…