Satisfaction! by Mary N.
Like most boomers, I've stopped smoking and gained 22 pounds that's made me more hippie than I ever was. And like most boomers, I joined a conscious raising support group to tackle the problem. These are nice people who sit around and talk about nothing but food for an hour an a half ,well, longer if the recipes are really good. Usually 90 minutes of encouragement and fat fighting tips gets you through the week with out O-D-ing on cheesecake by Saturday night.
Every week has a theme, but I never thought I `d see the day when the bad boys of rock'n roll would be playing to a bunch of Boca Bottichellies in flip flops. Our group leader had written "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" on the blackboard. Instantly, I could see Mick's lip curl in cynical desire. I could feel the steady beat like coming on like a panther in the jungle. I could recall the words to the belligerent tune that stormed into the American airwaves in 1965 as easily as I could recall the location of every Baskin Robbins within a 35 mile radius of my home. Only now, the message of wanton lust and pure savagery applied to deep-frying or chocolate. Or deep-fried chocolate. Marketing groups understand this kind of hunger and sell the hell out of it . Now we can get it. We can have it our way. We can super size it. And we DO! Step on the scale and I'll show you what I mean. Hey, Hey, Hey....leave your shoes on, please!
Oh Mick, how times change. Instead of holding up lighters in adulation ,we took our cardboard, sliding- point- calculators out of our Burberry bags and tallied up the numbers we consumed with our Monte Blanc pens as the group leader explained how we could get just as much satisfaction from the tomato juice instead of the fried cheese and bacon potato skins with sour cream and chives. You could have cut the silence with a gin-su knife. I mean come on! There's not enough group therapy in the world that would make a real hippie swallow that one. "But I try and I try and I try".
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